


The Sexual Education of Sam Winchester

by coplins



Series: Volatile Chemistry 'Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Butt Plugs, Car Sex, Claiming, Closeted Character, Cunnilingus, Degrading Language, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gay Bashing, Hidden Cam, Homophobic Language, Infidelity, M/M, Making Love, Marking, Masturbation, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, S&M, Slurs, Timestamp, Twink Sam, Voyeurism, consent issues in relation to hidden cam, girl getting excessively wet, huge cock, mentions of past rape (not Sam), possibly gross?, pussy licking, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of sexual timestamps from the Volatile Chemistry'Verse in Sam's teenage life. From 14 years and upward. So this is underage.  None of this is important to read to keep up with the plot in the main fic. It's basically just porn. Some references are made to things that happens in Volatile Chemistry but I don't think you actually have to have read it to keep up. Recommended to have read chapter 38 at least before reading this. But then again, possibly not necessary. However, if you haven't read that far this may contain spoilers. </p>
<p>Mentions of Lucifer. Tyson Brady is named Brady Callaghan in here. Ruby is blond Ruby.  </p>
<p>Chapter one might be a bit gross if you're sensitive. Chapter tags in the beginning of every chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bloody Valentine

* * *

**BLOODY VALENTINE M/F**

* * *

#Pussy licking #Barebacking #Car sex #Menstrual sex #Menstruation #blood #Possibly gross? #Sam/OC (Sam is 15)

* * *

Apart from Brady, Sam is rarely attracted to guys. Sure, he can see that they’re good looking, but he doesn’t feel a wish to _do_ anything with them. Not like with girls. With girls it doesn’t take much for Sam to want to touch. A pretty smile, soft looking hair, nice boobs. Any little detail really could spark his libido. He doesn’t care if they’re thin or fat or ‘normal’. Girls are a marvel really, soft and beautiful. He has developed a taste for licking pussy since he lost his virginity. He can lick until his jaw aches, his tongue cramps, his face is all but drenched in her juices and the girl is a squirming mess. He loves the feel of muscle contractions around his finger or tongue when she comes. Loves the taste of extra fluids that flows when the girl orgasm. Only then will he slip on a condom and enter her. It usually doesn’t take long for him to come, but by then it doesn’t matter to her. And if it does, well, as a horny teenager it doesn’t take long for him to recuperate.

He has learned that by taste and smell you can discern where in the cycle the girl was. Even before a girl’s period has started she gets a faint metal tang in her taste. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he doesn’t mind if she is _on_ her period, he’ll still gladly eat her out even if it left him bloodsmeared around his mouth like a gorging vampire or whatnot. He does find pads and tampons vaguely gross but that was more because the blood has gone stale rather than that they were blood covered. Often it seemed the girl was more disgusted by her period than he was.He remembers the first time he ate out a girl on her period. Her name was Amber. A shy strawberry blond girl, three years his senior. 

* * *

They make out in her car, both horny as hell. Grinding up against each other in the backseat. She is so beautiful. They met at one of Brady’s parties and with the booze flowing freely he isn’t completely sure how they ended up in her car. He highly doubts she is aware that he is only 15. He is tall for his age and since his last growth spurt girls her age started take notice of him. They are kissing frantically, hands roaming all over each other. He opens her blouse and then unclasps her bra with a one-handed practised movement. ( _A lot_ of practice really. Thanks for that Ruby!) Suckling on her breasts until she is wild underneath him. Her skirt rides up around her waist and his dick is straining in his jeans against the heat in her panties.

He kisses his way down but when he starts to pull her panties down she tries to stop him, almost panicking.

“I’m on my period!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he says with a lopsided grin and removes her panties. She let him, but she is tense, looking down on him in apprehension. He twirls the string hanging out of her pussy around his finger and pulls the tampon out, throwing it carelessly out the window. Then he dives in. It doesn’t take long for her to lose herself in his ministrations. Blood mingles with the pussy juice and it doesn’t disturb him one bit. (Maybe it’s because he is drunk―but he kinda likes it.) He holds her steady, gripping tight at her hip bones from underneath. Her breathing turns into whiny moans as he alternates between licking as deep as he can into her, sucking gently on her clitoris and running his tongue from the top of the clitoral hood and down, stimulating _all of it_. (Another big thanks to Rubes for letting him practise. He used to think it was only the little part in the end of it that was important. How wrong he had been!) 

When Amber starts to twitch and make jerky movements he quickly changes his grip on her hips, putting his arms on top of her instead so his armpits rests on her thighs. Another hard earned lesson learned. Just in time too. As her orgasm hits her she jackknives, her legs slamming shut like a fly trap.(Why do girls do that?!) He can’t count how many times he’s got his head slammed and locked by thighs before he learned to counter it in time. She keens and he sticks his tongue inside her pussy and feels the rhythmic contractions squeeze at it, making his dick twitch and leak precome in his pants. When she finally relaxes he unzips his jeans and pulls his dick out. Then he remembers his condoms are in his jacket inside Brady’s house.

“Shit. You got a condom?”

“I’m on the pill, just fuck me already!” she urges and pulls him in. And shit, it feels good to fuck without a condom. It doesn’t take long for him to spill inside of her, despite one of his calves cramping due to the tight space.

Afterwards she looks close to tears, facing away from him with an expression of shame.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Did I get it wrong? Did.. did you not want to do it?” he asks her and worried, he strokes her cheek. 

She makes a sound between a laugh and a sob and looks at him, so friggin vulnerable. “You’re not grossed out by me?”

“No. Why should I be?”

She strokes his chin. Her fingers come back bloody and she rubs them together as to prove a point. “I’m on my period.”

He snorts and grins at her. “ _Dude_. You’re friggin’ gorgeous and hot as Hell. A little bleedin’ aint gonna change that.”

She snivels a little laugh and kisses him, heedless of the blood in his face. No. Not heedless. She starts cleaning him up. Licking the blood off his face, and then pushes him to a sitting position and does the same to his dick. His dick, happy for the attention, comes back to life and the cleaning turns into a blowjob. She swallows his come with a grimace.

“You didn’t need to swallow if you didn’t like it,” he admonishes when she comes up to kiss him again. 

She just smiles. “If you can be so chill about body functions, so can I.”

* * *

The whole episode has got him thinking. He had never really realised how stigmatised girls on their periods were. But after that he starts noticing how often it was used against them. How it seemed to be a point of shame and scorn. He wonders if it is something wrong with him for not being bothered. Maybe there has just been too much blood in his life already? He doesn’t see any difference between blood coming from a wound, the nose, or a pussy. Blood is blood. The taste isn’t that bad. It’s difficult to wash off clothes by all means but apart from that he had no problem with it. Only time he’d been grossed out by blood was when he got hit on the head and bit his tongue. It just wouldn’t stop bleeding and it felt like he swallowed gallons of blood. _That_ made him nauseous. He keeps quiet about his opinion on the matter though. After years of being bullied he enjoys his new place in the top layer of the school hierarchy. This is not an issue worth risking that position over. 


	2. Sweet Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam seduces an older man.

  


* * *

**SWEET SIXTEEN M/M**

* * *

(Sam is sixteen) #Bottom!Sam #Underage #Blowjobs #Huge cock #Big age difference #Sam/OC based on Michael Fassbender #Twink!Sam #mentions of past rape (not Sam) #a bit plotty (kinda) #Rimming #infidelity #Mentions of homophobic behaviour #gay bashing #love making #rough sex #dirty talk

* * *

Of course, not all girls likes to be eaten out. But many did and somehow this earned him the label ‘a good lay’. Nowadays he hardly has to flirt to pick up a girl, they came on to _him_. It was almost boring really. Since he discovered how to pick up girls he kinda liked the seduction part. No. Now they came on to him despite the fact that by now it was a well known that Sam didn’t go steady with anybody. Which… Well. It wasn’t _exactly_ true. He was, by all intents and purposes, in an open relationship with Brady. Not that either of them acknowledged the fact. They were ‘best friends with benefits’ and Sam was sure that he was the only one who wanted to keep it that way. He was convinced that if he ever said to Brady; ‘Screw this shit. Let’s just be boyfriends.’ Brady would jump for joy and never look at another person ever again.

Instead, Sam had taken the advice Lucifer gave him the day he met Brady two years ago. He had snared the older boy and kept yanking his chain. Going from hot to cold, from sex to platonic, back and forth. Always on his conditions. And Lucifer had been right. The power was heady. He’d guilt trip about it sometimes but in the end, what they had was worth it. The sexlife was wild, beyond what most horny teenagers would dream of. And the friendship that had developed between them was great. Brady was the only steady sex partner Sam had since he ended his friendship with Ruby. 

Anyway, that was not his point. The point is, Sam is rarely sexually attracted to any other guys than Brady. Sure, he can see that they’re good looking, but he doesn’t feel a wish to _do_ anything with them. But apparently, he has a type, because sitting in the hotel bar is a man that makes Sam want to do all kinds of crazy stuff. Tall, muscular, blue eyes, chiseled. Like a veritable copy of Michael Fassbender. Sam knows he recognise him from somewhere. He racks his brain and finally the pieces fall into place. He’d seen him in Gabriel’s playbook. Thomas Rainsborough. He is a player in the Reapers―the team Free Will is meeting tomorrow.

Sam approaches the bar and slides onto a barstool on the far end from Thomas, not looking at him. Apart from the two of them, the bar is empty of customers. The bartender approaches Sam.

“What can I get you?”

“A Heineken, please,” Sam says with confidence. Fake it until you make it.

The bartender gives him a sceptical once over. “You got an ID, kid?”

“Sorry. I forgot it in my room. I can show it to you the next time I come down here?”

“No can do kid. If I get caught serving liquor to a minor we lose the permit,” the bartender says with an apologetic look.

“How about this, you give me a rum and coke and leave the coke bottle beside my glass. It will look like I’m just having a soda and none will be the wiser.” Sam flashes the bartender his most charming smile and tilts his head to the side, looking up on him through his bangs.

The bartender rubbs a glass with his towel and seems to deliberate with himself. He throws a hesitant glance at Thomas at the other end of the bar. He has obviously been listening in because that makes him speak up.

“Give the kid his drink, I won’t tell. Hell, I’ll even pay for it!”

The bartender shrugs and mutters “Alright.” 

Sam turns to hockey player and gives him a big grin, nervous butterflies putting on an air show in his stomach. “Thanks.” Sam points at the stool beside Thomas. “That seat taken?” At the same time a conversation is going on inside his head.

_Holy shit! Sam, what **are** you doing?! He is much older than you!_  
_Yeah. But he is friggin’ HOT. And I’m bored, so shut up!_  
_Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!_

In response to Sam’s question Thomas returns his smile and pulls out the stool beside him.

_Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!_  
_I said shut up! How would Dean act in this situation?_  
_He wouldn’t be in this situation because he’s straight, dumbass!_  
_What advice would Lucifer give? Remember what he said; "Nobody gives you the right, you take it. And you deserve it." That’s right. Lucifer would tell me to go for it. I can do this. Holy shit, I’m doing this!_

He slides off his stool and walks up to Thomas, bold as brass and sits on the stool beside him. He let his legs fall open so that their knees touch. The smile on the hockey player’s face freeze for just an instance, eyes darting down to the point of contact for a fraction of a second. But he doesn’t move away and when he looks at Sam again there is something calculating in his gaze. Sam offers his hand with a lopsided smile. “I’m Sam.”

“Hi Sam, I’m Tom.” Thomas says and shakes Sam’s hand with a firm grip. When he lets go Sam lets his fingers linger, drag in a caress before contact is lost. Tom doesn’t miss the significance in that gesture and he gives Sam another calculating once over, this time his smile doesn’t falter.

“I know who you are. You’re a forward in the Reapers.” Sam says and gives the bartender a nod of thanks when he put Sam’s drink in front of him. He takes a sip and looks back at Tom.

“Oh. A hockey fan are you?”

“Kinda. I’m here to see the game. My brother plays in Free Will.”

Tom chuckles. His blue eyes sparkle. 

_Shit, he’s good looking! I wonder what it would be like kissing him?_  
_Sam, break this off! He’s much older than you. He could go to jail if he follows through with what you want him to do!_  
_Screw that! Who’s gonna tell? The bartender just served me booze so he’d lose his job and the bar would lose it’s permit if he talked. Besides, Tom just adjusted his leg so we’re touching even more. He wants me._

“Consorting with the enemy then, eh?” Tom’s voice is laced with warm humour. He has a round accent, like he’s speaking in front of the mouth. A mix of Irish and American. Sam likes it.

Sam takes a big mouthful of his drink while side eyeing the man. He licks his lips while setting the glass down. Quirking the side of his lip and narrowing his eyes he answers with a suggestive lilt to his voice. “We aren’t really consorting, are we?” A short pause for effect and then; “... _Yet._ ”

Sam’s pulse speed up when he sees the reaction that gets. Tom’s smile falters for a bit and his eyes dart around the room to see if they’re being watched. When he looks back at Sam there’s hunger in his eyes and he bites his lip.

“How old are you, kid?”

Sam turns his head to look in the direction of the bartender. He is crouching down at the far end of the bar, restocking something with his back turned. Satisfied that he’s not paying attention Sam turns full on towards Tom, leans in close and looks him square in his eyes. “Sixteen,” he says, keeping his voice low so the bartender wouldn’t hear.

“Shit. You look older.” Tom looks nervous. The hunger in his eyes hasn’t abated, if anything, it has grown, but it’s mingled with trepidation now.

Sam gives him an impish grin. “No I don’t.” He winks and throws another look at the bartender, draining his glass in one go. Sam runs his hand over Tom’s thigh.

He could have lied. It would have been easier. But it wouldn’t be fair to Tom to try to seduce him without him knowing the consequences if they got caught. And Sam _did_ look older. Mainly because he was tall and had begun filling his frame lately. Then there was this little part of him that found the age difference exhilarating. That thrilled at the older man’s interest. At the thought that if something happened between them, Tom would overrule common sense because he wanted Sam.

“I’m 33, kid. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Sam’s hand wanders up the inside of Tom’s thigh and he lets a finger stroke lightly up along the zipper. “I know exactly what I’m asking.” Then he removes his hand with a sigh. “Look. We don’t have to do anything. But I’m bored and you are like, super hot! If nothing else, we could at least kill some time together. See if we could wrangle another drink from this guy―” Sam gestures towards the bartender with his head. “―and just talk. I dunno, ‘bout hockey or something. That way we won’t have to be alone and I get a nice view to pine over.”

Tom seems to deliberate with himself. Then he digs up his wallet and hands Sam his room key. “I’m probably gonna regret this. Let yourself into room 106. There’s a bottle of Jack on the table. Feel free to drink as much as you please. I will be up in about maximum ten minutes and we’ll see where it leads, ok?”

Sam smiles, takes the keycard ands slips off the barstool. He heads out to the elevators before the bartender has the chance to notice he has gone.

In the elevator he is screaming internally. Excitement warring with _whatta-fuck-am-I-doing!_?! Teenage hormones running amok making him sport a semi in anticipation. Yeah, sure, they might just talk and ogle each other thinking of what could have been. But they’re not gonna do that. Alone together in a hotel room with a bottle of Jack? Fat chance. Sam is gonna get laid. And this is so stupid. This is right up there amongst Sam’s top 5 of most stupid and dangerous things Sam’s ever done. Possibly sidling in as a close third after getting into Lucifer’s car the first time, and talking to Michael.

He lets himself into the room, kicks off his shoes and looks around. It’s a really nice hotel room. A double bed, a tv, a sofa and a small coffee table. Nothing like the room he shares with Dean and Benny. They have two singles in a smaller space than this plus the small camp bed placed between them where Sam was supposed to sleep. Not that he minds. It’s a school break and any excuse for getting out on a little adventure is a good one.

The bottle of Jack stands on the coffee table just as promised. Sam finds two glasses on top of the mini bar and pours himself a hefty drink to bolster his courage. He drinks half of it down and then settles to wait. It felt like hours but doesn’t even take five minutes before there is a knock at the door accompanied by a tentative “Sam?”

Sam gets up and lets Thomas in. When the door closes and locks behind Tom they stand silently and just look at each other for a moment. Both drinking the other guy in. Tom is slightly taller than Sam, wearing a thin grey woolen V-necked sweater that displayed his broad shoulders and well defined pecs. While they might be approximately the same height Sam is still slim and wiry compared to Tom’s much more buff frame. He is built. Sam can’t wait to see him out of his clothes. Sam is also stupidly nervous, bordering on scared. Yet that just added to the thrill. _Fake it until you make it,_ he reminds himself yet again to keep his calm exterior.

Tom snaps out of it first. “Are you sure about this, kid?” he says with a friendly smile and a raised eyebrow. 

Sam smirks. “Yeah. I really am,” he answers and goes back to the sofa. 

Tom pours himself a drink and sits down beside him, removing his shoes and socks. He takes a sip and then puts down the glass on the table. He turns toward Sam, still smiling, eyes once again hungry. “You know. You look so innocent. Cute dimples, that little head tilt you do when you look up from under your bangs. But you’re not, are you? You got a part demon blood in you, don’t you kid?”

Instead of answering right away Sam lets a teasing little smile play at his lips and starts slowly unbuttoning his plaid shirt. Tom follows his every movement with his eyes. The want in them growing by each button undone. Sam slides the shirt off in a slow slithering movement, leaving him with only T-shirt.

“Shit, kid. That shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was, but that might have been the most erotic sight I’ve seen for years.”

“Name’s Sam, not kid. Unless…” Sam’s smile turns devilish. “Unless that’s a thing for you? You got a bit of that sweet sixteen fantasy going on Tom?”

Tom’s cheeks colours. He is smiling at Sam, but a slight hint of shame made it into his gaze. “That’s not…”

Sam brakes him off. “It’s okay. I’m not judging. I know you wanted me even before you knew my age.” He moves closer on the sofa, drags a hand up Tom’s thigh and scrapes his nail against the rough denim covering the hot bulge between his legs. “I _am_ sixteen. And I want you to have your way with me. If it turns you on to call me kid, I’m all game. I don’t mind being part of someone’s dirty catholic guilt ridden fantasy.”

“Shit,” is all Tom says, staring at Sam as if transfixed.

_Oh boy. Judging by the look on his face I’ve hit home with that one!_

“Come on Tom. Corrupt me. Ravage me and ruin me for anyone else in the future…” Sam purrs.

That is all the urging Tom needs really. He may be very affected, but he is not hesitant and lost. He reaches out and cups Sam’s cheek, the pulls him closer for a kiss. Sam closes his eyes and let him dictate.

Tom is a good kisser. He kisses unhurriedly. Hungrily but not forcefully. Soft but certain, like he was savouring Sam and plans to take his time doing so. Sensual rather than sexual, but by no means chaste or careful. A girl had once told Sam that she’d take a good make out session before a good fuck any day. At the time he’d thought that to be just stupid, but now he could totally see what she was getting at. He copies Tom’s way of kissing. It floods the senses like thick syrup.

Tom’s hands are big, rough and calloused. He strokes the soft skin on Sam’s face, combs through his hair, nails scraping against the scalp _just_ right. Finger dances lightly in the nape of his neck sending shivers through his body. Tom hasn’t touched him below the top of his shoulders yet and it is already more pleasurable than most of Sam’s sexual experiences. And it feels so close and intimate somehow. Like the two of them are fully _there_ in the moment, aware of each other. Not part removed into another headspace. It really hit Sam then, how much more experience Tom has. Sam is, in comparison to many of his peers, very experienced. He has tried a little bit of everything and had many partners. His second time having sex had been a threesome for crying out loud! He has had sex with both girls and a boy. 

But Tom had been 17 years old already when Sam was born. He had a lifetime of practise and Sam was just getting started. It was not just a question of numbers or whether it was legal or not. Tom had long since made the fumbled mistakes Sam is making, he had the chance to develop a certainty of what he likes and wants. Sam is just starting to form an opinion. The thought is thrilling, exhilarating.

Sam is getting more and more aroused. Making noises into the kisses. Stroking Tom’s chest, shoulders and upper arms, friggin’ revelling in the firm muscles underneath the shirt. Tom breaks the kiss to move on to kissing Sam’s face, jawline, neck and throat. Alternating kisses with soft brushes of his lips and gentle sucks that doesn’t leave a mark. His hands moves downward over Sam’s back, slips in under the hem of the shirt and drags it up. Sam doesn’t hesitate to raise his arms so Tom can get it off of him.

He pauses to look at Sam’s chest, dragging his hand over the tattoo over his heart. “Aren’t you too young to have a tattoo?” He smiles appreciatively.

“I’m too young for a lot of things. It doesn’t stop me from doing them.”

Tom snorts in amusement and leans in again. He maps out Sam’s torso with him mouth, tongue and calloused hands. Leaving a tingling and warm sensation wherever he touches, like he lights up Sam from the inside out. It feels great. The ministrations are almost reverent in their nature. _Maybe they are._ Sam thinks that this is how Lucifer would touch him if he ever made a sexual pass at Sam. The second after that thought reaches him he slaps himself mentally and stoves it back into a dark recess in his mind. Thinking of Lucifer like that is taboo.

Tom murmurs praise and compliments into his skin like prayers. Telling him he is gorgeous, sexy, tastes wonderful, and that his skin is so soft. He suckles Sam’s nipples and kisses his tattoo. Sam is torn between closing his eyes and just revelling in the sensation and keeping them open to drink in the sight. Tom lays Sam down on the couch, laying down on top of him between his legs. He kisses him again.

Sam loves girls. He loves their softness and their curves. If he ever had to choose one gender to have sex with for the rest of his life he’d forgo men without a moments hesitation. But here, right now, this is the benefit of being bisexual. Tom is so extremely _masculine_. He is all muscles and sharp angles. The very definition of a man. The barest hint of stubble on his shaved cheeks, a vague hint of cologne. It’s dizzying. He is heavy on top of Sam, making him feel small, boxed in under those broad shoulders and large arms. Once again aware how dangerous this situation really is. It makes Sam moans into the kiss and grab a hold of Tom’s ass, pushing him closer into a grind. Tom rolls his hips in slow circles, breathing heavily.

Tom starts kissing his way down again, licking and nipping. His large hands stroking Sam’s sides. He looks up and meets Sam’s eyes when his head is level with Sam’s crotch. A smirk, then he bites the leather of Sam’s belt, unbuckling the belt with his teeth while keeping eye contact.

“Holy shit, that’s hot!” Sam breathes.

Tom uses his lips to undo the jeans button, unzips with his teeth and Sam groans. 

_I’ve gotta learn how to do that!_

Tom hooks his hands inside Sam’s jeans and underwear and pulls down. Sam raises his hips to help. Tom takes his pants clean off, managing to get the socks off with the same movement. He drops the garments beside the couch and goes back to kissing and nipping newly exposed skin. Hipbones, thighs. He licks Sam’s balls, suck them into his mouth and Sam groans. Tom licks up his shaft, teases his frenulum with his tongue, licks up precome from the slit and kisses his cockhead sloppily. Sam scrambles for handhold on the sofa and whimpers when Tom sinks down over his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit! You’re good at that!”

Tom hums, sending vibrations of pleasure through Sam’s cock. He pulls off and winks. “I have a lot of practise, kid.” Then he sinks down over Sam’s cock again. Moving up and down in a slow pace. It’s sloppy and he uses his tongue expertly. Sam doubts he’s going to last much longer. Then, _of course,_ Sam’s phone rings.

“Shit! It’s probably my brother. Gimme a minute.” Tom pulls off while Sam reaches down for his jeans to dig up his phone. He puts a finger to his mouth to signal to Tom to be quiet before he answers his phone. It’s Dean.

Tom listens while Sam speaks, running his hands up and down his body. He gets something devilish in his eyes and suddenly sinks down over Sam’s cock again. Wet and hot, all the way down until his nose is buried in Sam’s pubic hair and he hits the back of Tom’s throat. He has to bite his lip not to cry out. Tom sets a pace, up and down, fondling Sam’s balls with one hand and massaging the perineum with the other.

Concentrating at talking to Dean and not make sounds is next to impossible, reducing any answer to monosyllabic. Tom’s blowjob is stellar and he will be coming within minutes, he just knows it. Sam snaps. “Dammit! I may have a really short recuperation period but my stamina is severely lacking! If you keep that up I’m gonna blow!” Sam scolds and glares at Tom whose shoulders begin to shake in silent laughter but doesn’t let up, just keeps his blue eyes sparkling with humour pinned on Sam.

“ _What_?” Dean says perplexed, through the phone.

Sam can’t keep back a whiny groan and digs his free hand into Tom’s short hair and bucks his hips. “Dean. I’m in the middle of getting a blowjob here. Can’t talk. Don’t wait up!”

Dean’s string of curses is cut short when Sam hangs up. He drops the phone on the floor, mindless if it’ll break or not, and buries his other hand in Tom’s hair too. Head thrown back and eyes falling shut he fucks up into Tom’s hot mouth. It takes five thrusts and then he’s coming with a shout. Whining and jerking through the spasm. Tom milks him with mouth and hand through the orgasm, swallowing without any sign of hesitation.

“Shit! You asshole!” Sam says when he’s coming down and Tom laughs. Even Sam can’t keep his lips from twitching into a grin.

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t like it,” Tom says kissing his way up Sam’s body.

“Of course I liked it! You give awesome head. But I was talking with my _brother_ and that’s just, _wrong_!” Sam grins. He feels like jelly.

Once again Tom is on top of him, boxing him in, kissing his neck and grinding his hips slowly. “What? You don’t like thinking about your brother while you’re having sex, _hmm_?” Tom teases.

Sam slaps him lightly on the shoulder. “Eww! Shut up. Don’t be gross,” he says but not without laughing.

Tom kisses him again, hot and slow. Sam’s eyes fall shut. He lets his hands roam over Tom’s― _still fully clothed_ ―body. As much as he wants to feel skin to skin contact, it’s actually really arousing and he finds himself getting turned on by the power balance that implicates. Tom is much older, larger, stronger and on top of him. In his head, Sam tries out a number of cliché fantasies to fit this setup. Priest and choir boy, apprentice and boss, teacher and student, babysitter and father. Each one is equally much of a turn on and it doesn’t take long until he is fully hard again, squirming and grinding up against Tom, panting and making noises into his mouth, kissing more heatedly. 

Tom puts a finger to Sam’s lips and he sucks it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and looking up in Tom’s eyes. Tom’s pupils are huge. He too is panting, cheeks ruddy from arousal but without that desperate edge Sam is feeling.

“God, you’re sexy, kid! It’s like you’re carved out of every great fantasy I’ve ever had,” he rasps. 

Sam smirks around the finger and proceeds to suck it lustily like he was blowing a cock. Not that he had done that very often but Tom makes a pleased sound. He removes the wet finger and kisses Sam again. His hand curves under Sam’s ass cheek and then Sam feels the wet finger teasing his hole. His breath hitches but he manages to stop himself from jerking. He has never let Brady touch him there and no girls have ever tried. It feels foreign, but still... enjoyable. The finger slips inside to the first knuckle. The sensation is alien but Sam tries not to show it. Instead he tugs on Tom’s shirt. Tom takes the hint and pushes himself up, straddling Sam, and pulls both his shirt and undershirt off in one move, dropping them on the floor. He moves to lay back down again but Sam puts a hand in the middle of his chest to stop him.

“I wanna look.”

Tom’s lips curve in an amused smile and remains sitting. He is friggin’ chiseled. A small dusting of blond hair between his pectorals, that’s all. Apart from that he’s very well groomed. “Like what you see, kid?”

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice is rough. “You’re so friggin’ hot! Can’t believe my luck,” he says and caresses the muscles of Tom’s abdomen.

Tom grins confidently, but his cheeks turns a shade darker pink. “That’s what I should be telling you, kid,” he says and lays back down on top of Sam. Hot skin on skin distracts Sam enough not to be bothered when Tom licks his finger and once again slips it in. “Shit you’re tight.” Tom sucks in Sam’s bottom lips in his mouth and ruts against Sam in the pace he moves his finger in and out. His breathing in heavy and he moans when Sam makes a whimpering needy noise. “I want to make love to you,” he says.

Sam can’t help but to laugh. He feels Tom smile against his cheek.

“You find that funny, kid?” Tom says, not in the least perturbed and nibbles on Sam’s earlobe, his breath in Sam’s ear causing shivers.

“Yeah. No. It’s just. ‘Make love’ sound so, I dunno…”

“I could just fuck you. But that’s not what I want. I want to make love to you. Worship and adore you. Bring you sweet, sweet pleasure… May I do that, Sam?” 

Sam giggles nervously. He feels the blush creep along his cheeks and down towards his chest. “Oh my God,” he says through his blush, grinning. Thomas pushes himself up, holding himself on straight arms above Sam to look at him with a soft smile. Sam meets his gaze from under his bangs and bites his bottom lip, still smiling. He nods, sure his blush increases since his heart is fluttering nervously. “Yeah. Yeah you may,” he manages to clarify.

_Holy shit, I’m actually doing this! I’m going to let somebody fuck me!_  
_Isn’t that what I wanted?_  
_Yeah it is! But still! Holy crap, I can’t believe I’m doing this!_

Somewhere in the back of his mind he has never really thought he would let anybody except Lucifer do that to him, and that thought is forbidden, taboo, something that’s never going to happen. He has woken up from sweat-soaked feverish dreams about it, filled with shame and regret. Whatever twisted thing that was going on between him and Morningstar it was not sexual―was not supposed to _be_ sexual. Lucifer had shown him that without words long ago. So Sam chalked down any reactions or stray thoughts of something like that as just being hormones and ordinary physical responses and vehemently denied to himself it was more, shoving those thoughts away as soon as they came. Yet he’d somehow never thought he’d let anybody except Lucifer have him that way. Until he saw Thomas sitting in that bar and just _wanted_ , any way he could.

“Nervous?” Tom says with a soft smile and warm eyes, picking up on Sam’s inner turmoil even if he can’t know the exact reason.

Sam nods and smiles shyly, feeling a bit stupid. “A bit. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m going to take good care of you, kid,” Tom lowers himself down far enough to kiss Sam, sweet and hot at the same time and Sam relaxes somewhat again. Then he pushes himself up and off, getting to his feet. “Hold on.”

Tom goes to a bag in the corner of the room and crouches down. Sam follows him with his gaze. His back is just as spectacularly chiselled as his front. It’s obvious that Tom takes a lot of care with how he looks, because you don’t get a body like that unless you work for it. It’s the Abercrombie model type of built, not the bodybuilder type. Sam throws a leg over the back of the sofa and puts a hand under his head. He strokes his cock languidly with his other hand as he watches small muscles shift on Tom’s back while he rummages in his bag. “I’ve never done this before,” he confesses just as Tom finds what he’s searching for and stands up.

Tom whirls around with a surprised, unsettled expression. “W-what? Shit kid. You’re so forward, I thought you―”

Sam’s chuckle breaks him off. Sam is afraid Tom is about to change his mind because of it so he draws on all the fake confidence he can muster and tries to look nonchalant. He smirks. “Dude, relax. Look, I’m always the top. I’d be my first time bottoming. But I want to. With you. I mean. Okay?”

_Great. Now I’m blabbering like an idiot. He’s definitely not gonna want me now._

Tom looks hesitant. But his eyes roam over Sam’s body and the want in them hasn’t lessened. “Are you sure about that, Sam?”

Sam keeps on stroking his cock slowly and slides one hand along his stomach and chest. “Yeah I’m sure... Does the thought of popping my cherry turn you off?” A hint of his insecurity sneaks its way into the last sentence.

Tom smiles. “Definitely _not_! As long as you want it.”

”Oh, I want it alright,” Sam smirks.

Tom comes back to the couch and puts down lube and a string of condoms on the table. He remains standing, his eyes roaming up and down Sam’s body while he massage the bulge of his jeans. “Shit. You are freakishly sexy like that. Keep stroking yourself,” he leers. Eyes no longer hesitant and Sam revels in the want in them, complying to the wish. “You got a boyfriend back home?” Tom asks licking his lips.

”Best friend with benefits. And no girlfriend either.”

”Swing both ways, huh?”

”Yeah, but almost only into girls. It’s rare for me to want a guy like I want you. Brady is the only other guy I’ve been with.” Tom smiles and bites his lower lip at that. Sam wonders if it strays into some kind of straight boy fantasy because Tom gets a very predatory look in his eyes at hearing that. Sam likes it. “How ‘bout you, you got someone?”

Tom holds up his hand and points at the gold wedding band around his finger. Sam hadn’t even noticed before. For some reason that turns him on even more. It just adds to the fact that what they’re doing is illegal, that Tom is older and stronger than him. This is all so _forbidden_. “Wife and two kids,” Tom clarifies.

Sam closes his eyes and moans at that, speeding up his jerk off, precome leaking over his cock and hand.

”Shit kid, you really do have demon blood,” Tom says breathlessly. “That turns you on, that I’m married?”

Another moan, but he doesn’t dare opening his eyes, afraid he’ll see judgement in Tom’s eyes. “Yeah…” he answers, his voice rough by arousal.

Tom’s breath is ragged above him. “You like the thought of that? That I’m cheating on my wife with you?” His voice sounds strained, but not judgemental. But then again, he is the one who picked up a 16 year old. _Or was picked up by one. Let’s not be picky about the details._

Sam braves a look. Tom’s cheeks are flushed, mouth open, eyes glazed over with lust. He is massaging his cock through his jeans. When he sees Sam looking his lips quirk into a smile and eyes glister with humour. “So you swing both ways too?” Sam asks.

Tom shakes his head and sits down on the couch beside Sam. Sam doesn’t waste any time, craving skin contact and touch, he slides up onto Tom’s lap, kissing his neck and stroking his chest. “No. I don’t. To be able to be intimate with my wife I need to be very drunk and imagine myself being with a man,” Tom answers, hands roaming over Sam’s back.

Sam gets an idea of what he wants and slides down on the floor between Tom’s legs. “Take of your jeans, I want to taste you,” he says. Then he tilts his head, smiles a lopsided grin, gives Tom a teasing look from under his bangs, and says challengingly “And then tell me how you came to be married when you’re clearly gay.”

Tom throws his head back and laughs. “You cheeky shit!” He stares down incredulously at Sam, mouth agape but still smiling. Sam is afraid he has overstepped, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. His challenging grin doesn’t waver though, once again holding true to the ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’ motto. Then Tom nods. “Alright. We can do that,” he says with an amused _I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this-but-I’ll-do-it-anyway_ tone of voice.

Tom unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans, and sheds them along with his underwear. Raising his ass and divesting himself of the garments without getting up from the sofa. Sam helps him by tugging the pants off from his legs. Once Tom is fully naked Sam looks up again getting a good look at Tom’s cock for the first time. “Holy shit!” he exclaims. “You’re huge!” He must look really comical judging by Tom’s chuckle. Sam looks up to meet Tom’s eyes. He is leaned back in the couch, legs spread wide to accommodate for Sam, a blush spreading over his cheeks and down to his chest. He bites his thumb nail on one hand while grinning widely, eyes sparkling. _He_ is the one looking like a cheeky bastard right now. “ _Dude_. You’re, like, porn star huge.”

Tom closes his eyes and twists his head to the side, biting harder on his nail, shoulders shaking with silent laughter and the colour on his cheeks getting more prominent. Sam suddenly realises that he isn’t laughing at Sam―he’s embarrassed, not condescending. Sam can’t understand why. The man has got both girth and length to boast with. Isn’t that what most guys want? But Tom is obviously self-conscious and insecure about it.

Sam grabs a hold of the rock hard cock in front of him, eliciting a little hiss out of Tom and making him turn his gaze back on Sam. “Seriously Tom, I dunno how this is going to fit in me,” Sam says and watches entranced as he slowly moves his hand up and down the shaft. Apart from his size, Tom’s pubic hairs are trimmed short and his balls are shaved. He is well groomed all over.

”Don’t worry about it. You’ll be so well prepped by the time I slip inside you’ll hardly feel a burn. I don’t like to hurt my lovers,” Tom says, grin still in place, but there’s a flash of something in his eyes on that last sentence and Sam thinks that must be the reason for him feeling insecure about his size. Thinking about it, inexperienced sexual encounters might have ended badly with a cock this big.

”Alright,” Sam says, a wicked smile spreading over his face as he inches closer. He keeps stroking up and down the shaft with one hand and strokes Tom’s thigh with the other. “Now tell me why you have a wife.” He looks into Tom’s eyes and leans in, licking at his ballsack without breaking eye contact. The smooth balls feel good against his tongue. He’ll have to ask Brady to shave the next time they do this. Tom smells nice. Musky and clean.

Tom’s eyelids flutter under Sam’s ministrations, but he doesn’t close his eyes. “Shit. Kid, you’re both a nightmare and a dream come true.” He looks at Sam as if this is the most arousing sight he’s ever seen. It makes Sam feel powerful.

Sam licks his way up along the shaft. At the top he stops, hovering over the swollen cockhead with a teasing smile and arches an eyebrow as if to say _‘I’ll go on when you start talking’_. Message is received. Tom presses his lips together and exhales sharply in mixed consternation and amusement. “Okay. Okay, so you weren’t wrong when you spoke about catholic guilt ridden fantasies,” Tom begins. His breath hitches a bit when Sam’s hot, wet mouth engulfs his cock head. His voice turns a bit strained and his breathing more ragged, other than that Tom doesn’t let himself be distracted from the task.

”I come from a very religious family in a small very religious town. It’s cliché, but I realised I was gay because I had a crush on the new priest in our congregation. I was 15… _Oh_ , yes, just like that, kid…” Tom leans his head back and closes his eyes when Sam grips his shaft with both hands jerking him off to compensate for his disability to take very much of the cock in his mouth. At the same time as he sucks and licks at the head with a steady rhythm. Tom starts making a slow undulating motion with his hips along with Sam’s movements. “...When he preached about how all homosexuals would burn in Hell I’d stare transfixed at him, thinking about how it would feel to… _Shit that feels good Sam, keep that up_...to kiss him and touch him.” Tom moans and puts a hand on top of Sam’s head, not pushing, just resting it there. He’s panting and it takes a moment for him to get back on track.

”The crush passed, but not my attraction to guys. Our com-community… is very homophobic. M-my family spearhe-headed ev’ry campaign f-for purity and…”

Sam finds it really hot that he can make Tom stutter and lose concentration. But he kinda wants to hear this so when Tom falls silent and just breathes harshly and ragged, Sam slows to a stop and pulls off. Tom takes a moment to collects himself and then looks down at Sam, eyes heavy with arousal, and smiles at him. “I was popular in school, played sports, good grades. Met a girl in church from another equally religious family. In high school she was a cheerleader. Popular, like me. We started dating and it was a perfect cover for me. I liked her as a person and our families got along. There was this whole no-sex-before-marriage thing so I didn’t feel any pressure. We were prom king and queen, the whole shabang. She was in love with me and I love her as a friend.”

”Does she know?” Sam asks.

Tom shakes his head. “No. If anyone in our town finds out―not only would my family disown me, she’d stop me from seeing my kids and there’s a real risk of getting beaten to death, it has happened before in our community. No proper investigation was ever made. Like I said, our town is very, _very_ religious.” Tom looks serious now and Sam can see why he would. It couldn’t have been easy growing up like that.

”I’m sorry to spoil the mood,” Sam says with an apologetic grimace.

Tom just chuckles and strokes Sam’s cheek affectionately. “It’s okay. How about you? You need to hide?”

”Nah. Just from my brother. Dad was a homophobic asshole and my brother has taken on a lot of his views without the asshole part. He kinda pretend it doesn’t exist instead. He’d freak out if he knew about me though. But me and Brady are open about it in school and parties. It’s no secret,” Sam grins.

”And people are okay with that?” Tom asks with a smile and raised eyebrows.

”Sure. Brady is kinda the king of the school, like you said you were. He does track and field plus plays football. Nobody would dare go against him. If they did, _they’d_ be the ones in trouble.”

”You’re lucky then,” Tom concludes and draws a rapid breath when Sam sucks him in again and starts working him, not wanting to stray too far off the mood. Tom’s hand goes back to Sam’s hair, pushing down a little and Tom makes small thrusting motions with his hip. Sam keeps still, opening his mouth as much as he can, relaxing his jaw and only working his tongue on the underside of the head. Tom takes the invitation for what it is and thrusts a little deeper, a little faster. He is still very careful about what he’s doing―considerate, and conscious about his size. It makes Sam’s jaw ache, but the sounds of pleasure and the feverish look on Tom’s face and in his eyes is worth it.

Sam strokes himself at the same time. This mixed feeling of forbidden, being worshipped, and being used, at the same time, really turns him on. He feels respected, so this restrained version of getting his throat fucked does not feel degrading at all. But knowing Tom’s background―exactly how far off the reservation he is going by doing this with Sam―is so friggin’ arousing. He is discovering new kinks he didn’t knew he had. A full range of new fantasies to explore. Tom is not loud. His noises are quiet, ragged, but earnest. Sam loves them. He hates the fake exaggerated moans some girls do. (Although, he _loves_ loud girls who doesn’t fake their pleasure. As long as it’s genuine―it’s _hot_!)

Sam moans as he starts nearing his own peak. The sounds are muffled, vibrating around Tom’s cock. “ _Shit, shit, shit_!” Tom pulls him off by grabbing his hair and grasps the base of his cock and squeezes, hissing between clenched teeth.

It’s so sudden Sam has trouble catching up at first. Then he sees Tom’s balls pulling tight and gets it. But not the why of it. He must look dazed when he looks up at Tom, a string of saliva still connecting his mouth with the cockhead. “Why?” he asks.

Tom laughs a suffering kind of bubbling laughter. “Kid, you have _no idea_ how much you affect me. You can get me off with much more ease than what is normally required just by the power of how arousing I find you. But I do not have the same recuperation period as you and I really like to come inside of you.” His brow and chest is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Panting, he smiles warmly and adoringly down at Sam.

Sam lets go of his dick, crawls up to straddle Tom and leans in for a kiss. Tom’s hands caress him. Shoulders, spine, waist, ass, back up again. The kisses are sweet and hot. Tom breaks them to lick and suck gently on Sam’s throat, careful not to leave lasting marks. “When did you lose your virginity?” Sam asks. 

”With a girl or boy?” Tom counters while dragging his lips along the topline of Sam’s shoulder.

”Both.” Sam says, nuzzling into the crook of Tom’s neck and just enjoying the sensation of his questing mouth and hands.

”I was 18 the first time with a girl. On my wedding night. I was drunk beyond belief and thought of Brad Pitt in _’A river runs through it’_ during the whole time.” Tom snakes a hand between them and closes it around Sam’s dick. He begins stroking it, smearing the pre-come over the head every time he goes over it. “I was 16 with a guy. On an away game with my team the opposing team’s coach caught me staring at one of his charges and knew what it meant. He told me to stay behind in the locker room after showering.”

Sam chuckles. “I see you have a history of consorting with the enemy,” Sam says with an impish grin that makes Tom laugh.

”I guess you can say that.” Tom’s blue eyes are full of warm humour as he looks at Sam.

”So what happened?” Sam urges him to go on, rutting into Tom’s hand and holding on to him with arms around his neck.

”I thought I was going to be punished. I had been caught thinking impure thoughts. As far as I knew I was depraved, filthy. An abomination. He read me like an open book and used that. Told me I was a disgusting faggot and he was going to give me what I deserved. He made me suck him off and beg for him to fuck me on the locker room floor. He didn’t prep me. I think he only used lube for his own comfort. It hurt like Hell and when he was done he called me repulsive, spat at me and left me lying there.” Thomas voice was conversational and he is wearing a lazy smile, eyes still warm.

Sam though, is jarred. “Oh my God! Tom, that’s rape! That’s child molestation for God’s sake,” Sam says, staring in shocked horror at Tom.

Tom chuckles and shrugs one shoulder. “I’m hardly one to talk right now, am I?” he says and stokes Sam’s bangs lovingly out of his eyes. “Besides, it didn’t stop me from seeking him out any time we played their team, coming back for more. I deserved what I got.”

Sam is upset and having none of it. He grabs both Tom’s wrists and pin them to the backrest on the side of Tom’s head. Not that he would be strong enough to keep them there should Tom resist. But he doesn’t. He just looks at Sam’s scowling face with surprise. “Screw you Tom. You didn’t deserve it, okay? Nobody does!” Sam says heatedly. “And do not compare _this_ with what that _motherfucking asshole_ did to you! This is nothing like it!” Tom is totally taken aback by Sam’s vehemence. Sam doesn’t give him much time to process. He kisses him rough and short. “I want this, okay? I saw you sitting at that bar, and I just…” he draws a deep breath to calm himself down. Then another one. Tom’s expression has started to shift from astonishment to something akin to timorous amusement. “So get this,” Sam says and starts rolling his hips, rubbing their crotches together. “I want you badly. I craved you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Tom’s eyes grow darker with want again, a smirk curving a corner of his lips. “Is that so, kid?”

Sam guides Tom’s hands down to his ass and lets go of his wrists. Tom gets the message and grabs his ass, pulling him in to rub them more firmly together. Sam easily slips into his usual persona in bed, stroking Tom’s waist and tilting his head that way that makes his bangs fall partly over one eye and revealing the other. He smiles a lopsided smirk, narrowing his eyes in a challenging way. “Yeah. You’re all kinds of hot. How you look, your voice, your accent…” he bends down to suck Tom’s earlobe into his mouth, exhaling lightly into his ear as he does and is promptly rewarded by seeing goosebumps rise on Tom’s neck. “And maybe I am a bad seed. Maybe I am part demon, set in your way to lead you into temptation…” Sam purrs into his ear. Tom shivers. It sends a jolt of exhilaration down Sam’s spine. “...Because it turns me on. It turns me on that you’re much older than me. That this, is _illegal_.” He nips at Tom’s neck, listening to his breath stutter and becoming more ragged by Sam’s words. “You know what else, Tom? It makes me all hot and bothered that you’re bigger than me― _stronger_ than me. That I’m at your mercy. I want you to take advantage, Tom. To do as you please with me…”

Tom groans. His head falls back and his eyes shut. “Shit. _Oh shit_ , kid. You don’t know what you’re doing to me...” 

”Then show me Tom. You make me want to feel you inside of me.” Sam is really getting into gear now. “It’s wrong. I’m only 16. You know it’s wrong…” He doesn’t think it is―but by the way Tom’s breath hitches and the choked off sound he makes―it’s the right thing to say. “...You’re married and I’m so young and inexperienced compared to you, _just a kid_ , but I want you soo badly. Show me how good it can be to be intimate with a real man. Corrupt me, Tom. Make love to me. _Please._ ”

Tom laughs, full of mirth. He puts a hand under Sam’s chin and guides his head so that they’re eye to eye. “I’ll make it good for you, you insolent, teasing little shit,” he says playfully. Then his lips are on Sam. It’s soft, his tongue licks the seam of Sam’s mouth asking for entrance and getting it. It’s the same kind of kiss as their first and Sam melts into it with closed eyes. Tom’s hand card through his hair, the other one caressing his skin, the roughness of his calloused hands contrasts with the gentleness of the touch.

Sam lets himself get lost in it, get washed away by that syrupy warm feeling the kisses induce. He had purposefully used the expression ‘be intimate’ instead of ‘fuck’, remembering what Tom said earlier. Yet somehow he hadn’t really thought it could feel so _intimate_ , despite the initial make out they’d had. But this was exactly that. Ever so often Tom would break their kiss to look at Sam with a gentle smile while mapping out his face with equally gentle fingers like he was committing his features to memory. Those reverent touches were eerily alike how Lucifer touched him which made forbidden thoughts pop up in Sam’s head ever so often. It didn’t help that Tom and Lucifer had the same eye colour and looked at him just as affectionately. It did― _thank God_ ―help that the soul reflected out from those eyes were vastly different. Lucifer’s eyes were cold, hard, generally uncaring (unless he looked at Sam), and ladened with an underlying sadness. Tom’s eyes however held nothing but warmth and compassion.

Sam couldn’t tell how long they’d made out on the sofa when Tom suddenly grips him tight and stands up. Sam locks himself in place with his legs around Tom’s waist and arms around his neck. Tom grabs the lube and condoms from the table with one hand, the other holding firmly under Sam’s ass. He carries Sam to the bed as if he weighed nothing, a reminder of how strong he is. Sam curls in on himself, making himself seem smaller. The implicated power-difference sends jolts of hot anticipation down his spine.

Tom lays him down gently. “Let me take care of you…” he says and smiles, holding himself up on his arms above Sam.

Yeah, alright..” Sam nods. 

Tom grins and lowers himself down. He kisses and licks and nips his way downward, eager but unrushed. The rough pads of his hands trailing all over Sam’s body. When he reaches Sam’s hips, biting softly at hipbones, Sam is literally dizzy. He has let go and allowed himself to just _feel_. Disconnecting himself from thoughts of everyday life, worries about Dean, worries about school, about work, about past and present lovers. Allowing himself to listen too and believe the soft murmured words spoken directly into his skin. “Beautiful.”, “Soo pretty.”, “Your skin is so soft.”, “So smooth.”, “You taste so good.”, “Unblemished.”, “You’re so pure.”, “ _Perfect._ ”. Any time he looks down and meets Tom’s blue eyes he sees nothing but sincerity. The worship never stops and Sam feels like the words are true even though they aren’t. In this moment they _are_. 

Funny how an act that would be so harshly judged by society―that should sully and shame the both of them―can feel so purifying. How touches that is supposed to be corrupting can be so healing. Sex with a total stranger isn’t supposed to feel so _intimate_.

He hears the bottle cap of the lube open, but focuses on the lips and tongue working their way towards his groin. Tom lifts Sam’s legs up to rest on his shoulders and kisses his way down the juncture of his leg. Then there’s a hot tongue probing his hole. Sam jerks involuntarily. “Holy shit!”

Tom chuckles. “Feels good?”

”Yeah! Feels _great_.”

Tom chuckles again and goes back to licking, alternating between flattening his tongue out licking broad stripes over his hole, and licking into it. It’s a strange sensation but feels really, _really_ , good. Sam moans in pleasure and holds on tight to the sheets. Tom licks upward over his perineum to his balls, then suck them into his mouth as a lubed finger starts teasing his pucker. Sam is relaxed enough by the tongue fuck that the finger slips inside almost by itself. Tom envelopes his cock with his mouth and lets a second finger follow almost instantly. It stings a bit and feels uncomfortable but then Tom crooks his fingers and brush his prostate and “ _Holy Shit_!” Tom makes a pleased hum around his cock that sends shivers through his whole body along with the sparks of intense pleasure every time his fingers passes over the prostate.

Tom alternates scissoring his fingers and crooking them to touch his prostate. Sam hardly feels the burn. Every nerve ending is on fire and he is a sweating, writhing, moaning mess. He’s not sure when Tom slips in the third finger, or when he started fucking himself back on Tom’s hand. All he knows is that he’s on fire and is about to come again _very soon_. Strange thing that despite the slightly burning, unfamiliar, uncomfortable part of the intrusion of his ass, there is also a sense of wanting _more_. He hears himself begging for it. The fourth finger slips in, stretching him wider and Tom’s hot mouth and tongue works up and down his shaft and plays with his cockhead and it’s too much and not enough.

”Wanna come with you inside,” Sam begs.

Tom’s mouth is no longer on his cock and Sam opens his eyes. Tom is panting just as hard as he is, eyes glazed with arousal. He fumbles for a condom and rips it open with his teeth. “You have no idea how sexy and gorgeous you are, kid. I’m going to be treasuring this moment for the rest of my life.”

Sam makes a noise of protest when Tom removes his hand to put on a condom, slick himself up and get in position. Slowly he starts pushing in. Even with the four-finger prep it burns slightly and Sam focuses on relaxing. _Holy shit I’m actually doing it!_ Somehow, he’d anticipated that it’d feel degrading or humiliating to bottom. Like he’d be less of a man for letting someone inside his body. But it’s hard to feel humiliated when Tom is looking at him like it’s a blessing to come inside, like he is fighting not to come already and Sam is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

Tom stills without bottoming out. He holds himself up on straight arms over Sam and pants harshly, closing his eyes. “So _tight_...You feel so good..”

Sam doesn’t want to wait for him to start moving. Ho knows Brady always need a moment to adjust when Sam enters him, but Sam doesn't. He had worried about the pain which in hindsight is ridiculous considering all the pain he has experienced in his life and this slight burn and pressure inside of him is a child’s game compared. Impatiently he starts rolling his hips and Tom groans and opens his eyes, his open mouth quirking into a smile. “You impatient little demon tease,” he chides fondly and starts moving slowly with short thrusts.

”Come on Tom. Give it to me. I want _more_.”

Tom hisses and deepens his thrusts, lowering himself down to kiss Sam. He boxes Sam’s head and shoulders in with his elbows and buries his hands in his hair, increasing his pace and hitting Sam’s sweet spot in the process. The kisses are much more sloppy and heated than before and Sam moans into them. Being boxed in like this once again brings back thoughts of the forbidden power imbalance between them and that makes Sam, if possible, even _more_ turned on.

Tom never pushes in fully. Even as he increases depth and speed he’s holding back. “I’m going to fantasize about this for a very long time,” he says into Sam’s ear.

Something sadistic awakens within Sam. “Oh yeah? Gonna be thinking of me when you fuck your wife?” he says with a show of teeth in a lopsided smirk.

Tom groans and pushes himself up on straight arms. “Shit, kid,” he says, looking down on Sam with disbelieving feverish eyes.

”Will ya?”

” _Yes_ ,” Tom confirms with a harsh breath, his thrusts picking up intensity and Sam’s head falls back, eyes closing, a long involuntary moan escaping him. He feels pressure build up inside of him at the thought of Tom fucking a beautiful woman but with his head full of _Sam_. 

”You gonna think of how it feels like to have your cock buried in a sixteen year old boy while you’re inside of her? What it’s like have me at your mercy? Beggin’ for more?” He digs his nails into Tom’s back while he talks, drawing long red marks into it. Now he is no longer chasing his orgasm, he is fighting to hold it off. He wants _more_. He fucks himself back on Tom’s cock, trying to force Tom to bottom out, but the stubborn man just refuses to push in completely.

”Yes Sam. I am. You have no idea what you’re doing to me! I’m going to dream about this, think about this, when I jerk off...” Tom sounds feverish, suffering. “When I’m with other men, with my wife… You’re so sexy. So ravishing. So pure. So…” he trails off and Sam makes needy noises of pleasure. 

”Then give it to me Tom,” he demands. He’s on fire. Every thrust threatens to send him over the edge. He’s getting off on the dirty talk, both his own and Tom’s. He’s not usually this talkative in bed. “Gimme all you got. I can take it! Come on! Let me take it! _Please_!”

Tom hisses a string of “ _shitshitshit_ ” and falls back down on Sam, _finally_ bottoming out. It actually does hurt a bit. Like stomach cramps, but Sam’s too far gone to care. He starts sucking bruises into Tom’s skin the moment Tom’s skin is within reach. “Marking me up with the scarlet letter, kid?” Sam tenses up, ashamed to be caught red-handed. Tom kisses him and smiles against his lips. “Go ahead,” he says and bares his neck to Sam’s mouth.

Sam relaxes and attaches himself to it, sucking the hickey of the century while Tom pounds into him, his cock getting rubbed, slicked by sweat between them and it’s too much, he can’t hold back anymore. His orgasm overtakes him with intense force. He might be crying out, he might be wailing, he doesn’t know. He’s coming so hard it’s actually borders on painful. Once he starts gathering his wits about he becomes aware of Tom’s movements stuttering. He opens his eyes in time to catch Tom making the famous ‘O-face’, that looks ridiculous except for when you’re in bed with the person making it, in which case it’s the most beautiful expression in the world.

Afterwards they lay there panting, both catching their breaths, blissed out. Sam’s stomach and chest is covered in sticky come. He’s still unbothered. Right now he’s just filled with warmth and love and affection for the man on top of him. He gets like this sometimes after sex. Not always, far from it, but sometimes. He has these mini-crushes that lasts anything between minutes to hours where he feels totally and utterly infatuated with his partner. Later he will mull over and analyze his and Tom’s behaviour. Think about what he liked and why. But that is much later, when they have parted and he gets a still moment. Right now he is content lying here caressing Tom’s back lazily. “Thank you,” he whispers in Tom’s ear.

Tom laughs breathlessly against his shoulder. “Christ in heaven, Sam. I should be thanking _you_ , not the other way around,” he says and turns his head, offering Sam a big happy smile. He supports himself on one arm and strokes Sam’s hair gently. His eyes are soft, warm, tired and filled with joy. Just like Sam feels right now. Tom slips out of him and rolls to his side, tucking Sam in against his chest and kisses him. It’s one of those languid kisses that feels like syrupy sunshine. His free hand has begun wandering over Sam’s cooling skin with soft reverent touches and Sam wishes he could stay in this moment forever. 

Sam touches the hickey on Tom’s neck. Nothing short of a turtle-neck sweater will hide it and he feels a sting of guilt. “Are you mad?” he asks and kisses gently on the mark.

Tom chuckles. “I’m the opposite of mad right now. And if I get mad later, it will be at myself, not at you.” He pauses for a beat and just looks at Sam. “So this was your first time?”

”Yeah…”

”How do you feel?”

”I feel awesome,” Sam answers, grinning broadly.

Tom responds in kind and runs a hand down along Sam’s ass. “And down here? I was pounding you pretty bad at the end. It must have hurt.”

”Well, yeah,” Sam admits. “But it also felt great.”

”And now?”

”Honestly? A bit like I need to go take a dump,” he says, feeling a bit awkward.

Tom chuckles. “It does that, a fact rarely mentioned. Go to the toilet. Chances are only thing that will come out is lube, no matter what it feels like.”

”Alright. I think I’ll go do that and wash up while I’m at it.” Sam gives Tom one last kiss before he slips out of bed. He winces slightly when he stands up but it’s not that bad. Tom is proven right. Nothing but lube comes out. He is a bit sore though. An inspection in the mirror proves that Tom hasn’t left any marks whatsoever. He washes up and goes back out. Tom has cleaned himself with a towel and some water and disposed of the used condom. He is back in bed. When he sees Sam he lifts the blanket invitingly and raises an eyebrow in question. Sam grins at him and slips back into bed. He doesn’t miss the hint of relief in Tom’s expression. Sam claims a kiss, grateful for not being thrown out right away and that Tom isn’t making it awkward.

”Stay the night. We’ll order in, watch a movie or talk, if you want we can have another go. Just stay,” Tom says while drawing lazy circles on Sam’s skin with his finger. When Sam doesn’t answer right away he goes on. “I harbour no illusions, kid. Chances are I’m never going to see you again once we part. But you’re amazing and I don’t want this to end just yet.”

There’s many reasons to say no. One reason above all others. Sam doesn’t _do_ sleepovers because of it. “Sure. Let me just call my brother first, okay?”

Tom nods and Sam gets out of bed again. He collects his phone and his clothes and goes back to bed, dumping his clothes on the floor beside it. He sits on the bedside and calls Dean who picks up almost immediately. “Hey Dean, look, I’m gonna spend the night with my hook up, alright?... Yeah sure…. Mhm… I’ll call you if I need you okay? Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow. ...Yeah. Okay….Bye.” He puts down the phone and turns around, only to find Tom biting his thumb nail on one hand while grinning widely, eyes sparkling and blush spreading on his cheeks. Sam remembers that look from earlier―he’s embarrassed for some reason. “What?” Sam asks.

”There’s only one Dean in Free Will, right?” Tom’s voice carries humour.

”Yeah. What of it?”

Tom closes his eyes and twists his head to the side, biting harder on his nail, shoulders shaking with silent laughter and turning the shade of tomato. “I’m going to burn in hell for sure,” he mumbles to himself.

Sam moves to straddle Tom, frowning down on him. “ _What_?” he demands.

”Sorry kid. I just feel like a real creep right now. I’ve never been with anyone more than three years younger than me before.” Tom removes his thumb nail from his mouth and grins up at Sam impishly. “That hasn’t stopped me from fantasizing about it. And ever since I shook hand with Dean Winchester on the ice for the first time he has frequented my thoughts during more than one jerk off session. Then I’ve beat myself up about how young he is, feeling like a dirty perv. And now…” he trails off and starts shaking in silent laughter again, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sam is surprised to find he is jealous. “Would you have preferred if it was him that approached you at the bar?” he can’t keep himself from asking.

Tom’s eyes fly open. “God _no_! Have you seen yourself in the mirror Sam? He has nothing on you. You’re absolutely gorgeous! I will burn in hell for this stolen moment but _shit_ , you’re so worth it.”

The jealous feeling leaves Sam as fast as it came. “You know, I could have been a honey trap for all you knew,” he says with a devious lopsided smirk, tilting his head.

Tom surges upward and circles his waist with his arms. He kisses his neck and Sam feels the smile against his skin. “Well you caught me, kid.” Another kiss. “And had you been a lure for the police I would have accepted the punishment, getting what I deserved.”

Sam chortles, the last kiss tickles. “You got what you deserve,” he says grinning. “And better up, _I_ got what I deserve. You’re so friggin hot and that might have been the best sex of my life so far.” It is no lie.

”You really think I’m that hot, huh?”

”Yeah I do. You’re totally my type.”

”And what type is that?”

”Hold me steady…” Sam says and leans over the edge of the bed, still straddling Tom, and fishes up his wallet. “My type is, for example Chris Evans, the human torch, from the _Fantastic Four_? Or…” he digs out a bunch of pocket sized photos from his wallet and spreads them out on the blanket beside them, searching for two specific ones. Tom is looking at the pictures curiously. He finds the ones he’s looking for. “Here. This is Brady and me. And here’s Brady, me and Ruby.” The photos are taken in one of those photo booths.He has another pic from it with just him and Ruby. Brady has the fourth pic, the one where he and Sam is kissing. Sam can’t risk Dean finding it. 

Tom surveys the pictures with a soft smile. “He is good looking. I can see the common denominator. I’m quite flattered you put me in the same category as Chris Evans though. He is very sexy.”

”Yeah he is. Like I said, I don’t go for guys that often. It takes something special. But when I do it’s for tall, blond, well trained, sporty guys with a lot of confidence.”

”No wonder you’re carrying around a picture of this guy then,” Tom says with a cheeky grin, and points at a picture on the bedside. “He has confidence enough to supply a country.”

Blood rushes to Sam’s cheeks when he realises Tom is pointing at the picture of Lucifer he has cut out of a magazine where Lucifer is smirking at the camera at a press conference. “I-I’m not, it’s not… I mean,..” he flusters almost in panic, feeling the tips of his ears burn hot.

Tom laughs. “Another case of consorting with the enemy, hmm? Got a taste for forbidden fruit?” he teases goodnaturedly while nibbling on Sam’s ear.

”It’s not like that! We’re not _consorting_ ,” Sam protests.

”... _Yet_ ,” Tom says suggestively and laughs at Sam’s indignant expression. “Sorry kid, couldn’t help myself. I’m sure there’s another reason for you to carry his picture in your wallet,” he relented, caressing Sam along the sides of his torso and looking at him with a mixture of humour and remorse.

Sam takes a deep breath. “I’m not… Look. He’s my friend. It’s secret alright? If people knew we… Dean would kill him. Or the other way around. I dunno. They always fight when they meet when I’m around. It’s all cuz of a big misunderstanding, but…” Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not like _that_ , alright? I don’t think of him that way. It’s not allowed.”

”Hmm. I’m not allowed to think of you that way either. Doesn’t stop me from doing it.” Tom muses while peppering Sam’s shoulder and neck with distracting kisses.

”It’s complicated.” Sam says and puts away the photos, throwing the wallet on the floor on top of his jeans.

”It often is.” Tom answers, leaning back and looking at Sam with soft eyes.

”Yeah,” Sam says. He doesn’t like how forlorn he sounds saying it and switches subject. “How about you? You do this often? Pick up guys?” he asks. 

”Too often and not often enough. When I’m single, well, apart from a wife, I take what I can get when opportunity knocks. I’ve had a couple of boyfriends during the years. Them, I don’t cheat on. But to be honest, I might have with you. You’re a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy come true. My last boyfriend and I was together for four years.”

Sam sniggers at the compliment. But reacts at the hint of sadness at the mention of the last boyfriend. “What happened?”

”What always happens. He was out and proud and I’m not. He got tired of all the secrecy. We could only be together during the hockey seasons when I travel. And then it’s hard to match schedules…” Tom smiles but Sam thinks he’s just smiling through a shitload of pain. Not just from the last break up, but from all of the things he’s told Sam, and everything he hasn’t said. “Plus he realised that it would all come to an end the day I can’t play anymore. The day I retire I’m chained to my home.”

”I guess the Brokeback lifestyle isn’t for everyone, huh?” Sam jests with an impish grin.

Tom bursts out laughing and falls back on the bed, taking Sam with him. “I guess not, kid. Keeping secrets takes a toll. It’s hard on you sometimes.” He looks utterly amused.

Sam’s mouth finds Tom’s and talk is put on the backburner for a while. But Sam still thinks about what he said. Maybe they are more alike than he would have guessed. Tom has lived with secrets all his life. But so has Sam. First it was covering up their home situation. The violence, their dad’s mental state, hunger, the booze and the medicines. Always the fear of being separated from Dean. After that is was his strange relationship with Lucifer plus Michael’s cruelty and threats. Sam lives with an ingrained accepting sorrow, always with a slight longing ache inside of him. Judging by the smiles when he talked about tough things, so does Tom. And Tom’s freedom will end and he has to live with the knowledge that any day an injury could kill his brief stolen moments of love and sex. Few hockey players have a career that lasts up to they’re 40 years old. At 33 Tom was already clinging longer than most. Maybe that’s why he’d let himself take up on Sam’s proposition?

Sam is soon distracted from his thoughts though as kisses get more passionate, hands more demanding and arousal overtakes him.

* * *

Much, much later they’ve made out until both their lips are swollen red and raw. They’ve spent the day in bed, talking, kissing, touching, making love. Moved to the couch and ordered room service to eat. Sam rode Tom on the couch until his thighs burned with lactic acid. By the end of the day Sam has come so many times he is pumping air and it’s actually painful. All the constant worries in the back of his mind are gone and for the first time ever he falls asleep in the arms of a lover.

 _Michael looks at him with infinite affection. “You’re so resilient Sweetling, so special to me,” he says, stroking Sam's cheek. Then he retract his hand. Sam struggles against his bonds, braces himself, then pain laces over his midriff. Dad is smiling warmly at him. “I love you, son. I’m proud of you.” His dad’s face morphs into something dark, corrupted by medicines and booze, lost in hallucinations from the war and no longer seeing_ him _. He backpedals, his twisted ankle gives way under him. He holds up his arms trying to ward himself from dad, but the branch in his hand comes down hard, breaking Sam's arm. Blow after blow rains down on him… Sam… Sam_...Sam!

Sam wakes up with a jerk, cheeks wet with tears and shaking. No. Being shook. 

“Sam! Are you with me?” Tom’s voice and face are filled with concern. His hands gripping Sam’s shoulders tightly. “Sam?”

Sam tries to answer but all that comes out is a pitiful whimpering noise and a snivel. This is why he doesn’t _do_ sleep overs. He can be totally fine during the days but at nights the nightmares comes. Not every night, but almost. And sometimes he has night terrors. It’s much worse. ‘Luckily’ tonight it was just a nightmare. 

As soon as Sam prove himself to be responsive Tom gathers him in his arms, tucks him into his chest. He rocks him softly and kisses the crown of his head. “Schh… It was just a nightmare. It’s okay now. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

Sam tries to stop crying but the comforting action makes it harder. It feels genuine and safe which opens a flood gate of tears instead. It’s friggin embarrassing but he can’t help himself. It takes several minutes for Sam to take control of himself. All the while Tom rocks him softly, murmuring comforting nonsense between gentle kisses on his head. Once the tears stop Tom dries his cheeks with his thumbs and kisses his forehead. He reaches for tissue on the nightstand and hands Sam who gratefully blows his nose and promptly discards the used tissue to the floor. “Shit. Sorry. This is so embarrassing. I shouldn’t have stayed the night.”

”Hey, hey. It’s okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m glad you stayed,” Tom says and kisses him sweetly on the lips, stroking his hair out of his face.

”Yeah well. I wanted to stay. I shoulda known better.”

”This happens often?” Tom asks with concern.

Sam nods. “Often enough.”

Another kiss on his forehead. “You want to talk about it?”

Sam buries his head against the broad chest before him. Tom feels like safety. ”Not really…” Sam answers, barely above a whisper. “I’d rather think of anything but that...”

Tom’s teeth glints in the darkness as he smiles. “Well, then let’s get you distracted love,” he says with soft warmth and tilts Sam’s chin up to kiss him. The endearment ‘ _love_ ’ is one Sam usually would consider cheesy, but not the way Tom says it. Sam is yet again flooded with that sense of infatuation and the darkness makes it easier to buy the illusion that this is something real. Sam closes his eyes and gives into it. Soft touches and kisses, whispers of sweet nothingness soon turns into slow lovemaking that has nothing to do with chasing orgasm but everything to do with being closely connected with another human being. When Sam falls asleep again in Tom’s arms he remains undisturbed by nightmares.

Tom is still asleep when Sam wakes up. He lies watching the older man for a while thinking of the night. He wishes this wasn’t a one time thing. On impulse he takes Tom’s phone from the nightstand and programs his number into it and then puts it back. He’s not going to ask for the call though. This can’t be. It’s an illusion. A hook up that shouldn’t have happened. But he wants more and suddenly feels vindictive about it. He starts thinking of the day before, staring at the hickey on Tom’s neck. It doesn’t take his mind long to shift gears from the sweet lovemaking during their little bubble of being just them during the night―to the _illegal_ rendevouz from yesterday. It sparks the same defiance in him as his friendship with Lucifer or his relationship with Brady. And the defiance lights a fire. He is hard in no time, leaning in and sucking small hickeys on one of Tom’s pectorals while kicking off the blanket and stroking himself. He makes the hickeys in dotted lines, forming an “A”. When he is done he leans up and studies his work, jerking himself off faster and biting his lip, a moan still managing to escape.

 _Yeah, yeah. So I’m a sick fuck for getting off on this._ Sam chides himself. Thinking of Tom’s wife just makes another moan escape. He looks up and finds Tom’s blue eyes trained on him. Sam has no idea for how long Tom has been awake and watching him. But judging by the slightly parted lips, the flushed cheeks and the eyes full of lust rather than surprise, he didn’t just wake up. The idea of Tom looking at him while he put the mark of adultery on his pec without doing anything to stop him turns Sam on more than he’d care to admit. He is going to be guilt-tripping about it later. Not right now though. He smirks devilishly at Tom and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Good morning Mr. Rainsborough,” he says in a teasing sing-song voice.

Tom licks his lips. “Good morning demon child. Why don’t you put that sinful mouth to use somewhere else so I can earn the mark you just gave me?” he says, voice husky, and throws the blanket off himself. His cock is already more than half hard.

Sam sniggers and works his way down with kisses and licks, keeping eye contact as he goes. He lets go of his own dick to grab Tom’s and sucks down as much as he can in one go. Tom hisses and puts a hand on Sam’s head. One thing Sam loves is to feel a cock grow hard (or in this case _harder_ ) in his mouth. One of the other benefits of being bisexual. He sucks and licks with much enthusiasm while Tom looks down at him entranced. Sam comes off with a wet pop and gives Tom his best _I’m-an-innocent-puppy_ -look that must contrast totally with his otherwise debauched appearance. “Fuck me,” he says and sucks the tip of Tom’s cock back into his mouth, still keeping eye contact using the most innocent look he can muster.

”You insolent little brat. I can’t decide if this is the best wake up or the worst I’ve gotten.”

Sam tilts his head, letting himself off with another wet pop, this time stroking his cheek along the length of Tom’s cock. His bangs falls over one eye. “Make it both? Come on Mr. Rainsborough, _fuck meee_ ,” he whines. “Take me like you have the right. Fuck me like I’m yours, _please_?” he begs and wiggles his ass in the air invitingly. He suddenly remembers what Lucifer said two years prior. _’Don't let anybody claim you.’_ The rebellious streak in him goes up to red level. _Lucifer_ should have claimed him! If he won’t, why should Sam obey him? Sam licks a stripe over Tom’s balls, his eyes probably glowing of hot challenge now. “Come on Tom. _Claim_ me!”

”Shit,” Tom mutters. His pupils are blown so wide the irises are almost invisible. He licks his lips and grunts, almost sounding feral, then reaches for the lube on the nightstand. He sits up, hooks an arm around Sam’s leg and yanks him around, manhandles him so his knees ends up on either side of Tom’s head and Sam can’t keep from letting out a surprised _Whoop!_. “Keep sucking, kid,” Tom orders and if Sam had any plans to protest it all goes away when Tom buries his tongue in Sam’s hole and starts licking, sucking and tongue-fucking him with fervor.

Sam does his best to oblige. He does. It’s not easy though. Not while getting his ass eaten out like this. He is reduced to moaning and mewling around Tom’s cock and mistakenly gagging himself a couple of times on it. He finds he doesn’t mind. A finger is worked in beside Tom’s tongue, twists to hit his prostate and Sam cries out. By then Sam gives up trying to give a decent blowjob and just lays his chest flat against Tom’s stomach, ass in the air for easy access. He doesn’t hear the bottle cap being opened but the tongue disappears and another finger joins. Sam is already relaxed from being so thoroughly fucked for the last 15 hours that the third finger joins quickly. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, kid,” Tom commands and Sam does. Maybe he should be ashamed of all the needy sounds he is making but he isn’t. Right now he just _wants_.

”More Tom! Gimme _more_!”

”Yeah? You want more, you little demon brat? You want me to defile your little virgin hole?” Tom sounds somewhere between angry and wrecked.

Strictly speaking his hole is no longer virginal since yesterday but that doesn’t stop Sam from mewling “ _Yeeeah._ Gimme! Take me! Do me! _Mooore_!”

” _Shit_.” A fourth finger joins the rest. “I’m going to spoil your innocence, child. Just you wait. I’ll go to hell for this but I’ll be damned if you’re not the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sam is _soo_ getting off on this dirty talk. He is leaking precum all over Tom’s chest now. “Take me with you then. Send me to hell with you, Tom. _Fuck meee_!” It makes no sense what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter. He can be both demon brat and innocent virgin as long as he gets some, like, _right friggin now!_

Tom makes a feral growl and pushes Sam forward, off of him. Sam makes a displeased needy noise at the loss of body contact but then he hears the condom wrapper rip and lube being squirted. His hips are grabbed and yanked upward and his head showed down in the sheets then, _finally_ , Tom lines himself up and starts pressing in slowly. Sam presses himself backward impatiently. “Shit kid! Are you trying to kill me?”

It actually hurts. Sam couldn’t care less. It’s not a bad pain. He knows what to expect and this is a good kind of pain. It’s not wrought out of malice like the pain he usually experiences is. He keeps pushing back and Tom’s hand comes down in a stinging slap on his ass cheek. “Still you impatient fiend,” he scolds.

”No! Tom! I can take it! _I can take it!_ ” he demands and twists his head to look at Tom angrily.

Tom cackles giddily. “You little shit,” he says smirking between gritted teeth. With a hand between Sam’s shoulder blades to keep him down Tom pushes in deeper, eyes locked on Sam to gauge how far he can push but Sam won’t show him how it hurts ( _or God forbid―he might stop_ ) and he bottoms out, head falling back in a groan. 

”Pound me Tom! Gimme!” Sam demands angrily. He can’t tell where this anger comes from but it’s not really directed at Tom. He just wants, _needs_ , the sex to be angry and demanding right now. 

Tom’s hand slides up from his shoulder and weaves itself in his hair, the other one grabs a hold of his hips and Tom starts thrusting. “Is this what you want? Huh? You really want me to do this, kid? Fuck you like an animal? Split you open on my cock?”

Sam moans and writhes meeting every thrust as good as he can. “ _Yes! More!_ ”

Tom speeds up and the pain becomes a dull ache easily overshadowed by arousal and want. Sam keens needily. It feels so primal. Even more so when Tom drapes himself over his back, panting and talking dirty in his ear. He feels owned. _’Don't let anybody claim you.’_ Yeah Lucifer can go fuck himself right now. This should have been him. It should have been. Sam is usually good at denying he wants Lucifer this way too, not only the strange friendship and intimacy they share. But now it comes to the fore. _’Don't let anybody claim you.’_ Fuck him! “Whose am I Tom? Tell me!”

Tom yanks him upright by the hair so they’re both standing on their knees, slightly bent backwards for thrusting leverage. He lets go of Sam’s hair and snakes his arm around Sam’s chest, placing his hand at the base of his throat. Not choking, only holding. The other hand grabs Sam’s dick and starts jerking him off. “You’re _mine_ you devious little twerp.” 

Sam’s head falls back to rest on Tom’s shoulder and he emits a long moan. He puts one of his hands over Tom’s by his throat and squeezes lightly, getting Tom to increase the pressure. Still not hard enough to choke, but borderlining it. _’Don't let anybody claim you.’_ He squeezes Tom’s ass with his other hand, encouraging him to thrust harder, faster. “ _tellmeTom,tellmetellmetellme_ ” he croaks unintelligbly.

Tom growls and sucks a bruise on his shoulder, low enough to hide with a shirt. It’s the first mark he has left on Sam’s body during all their time together. “You’re mine, little homme fatale.” Sam’s wanton moan encourages Tom to go on. “You are _mine_ , you cheeky little tempter. You’re _mine_ , you bratty, gorgeous, little shit. You are **mine**!”

Every nerve ending in Sam’s body is on fire. Pressure is building fast and everythings plays a part. Tom’s hand jerking him off, his ass being ruthlessly pounded, the words, the domineering way Tom’s hand is circling the base of his throat. When that hand comes up to roughly grip Sam’s chin, twist his head in an awkward angle and Tom forces his tongue in Sam’s mouth mercilessly, Sam loses it. He comes forcefully, shooting his load in long white stripes over the bed. Some even landing on the floor. Tom chuckles and shoves him down on the bed, drapes himself over him and fucks Sam’s now limp body hard. It only takes about 30 seconds for Tom’s movements to stutter and he is coming with a groan, clinging to Sam in an embrace and milking himself with small movements of his hip.

They lie panting for a while, Tom on top of him. Both to fucked out to move or care. Tom is the first to gather his wits and pull out of Sam gently. He ties off the condom and throws it on the floor, then scoops Sam up and manhandles him to lie in the right direction of the bed, puts a pillow under his head and lies down beside him, pulling a blanket over the both of them. He kisses Sam’s eyelids, strokes the sweaty hair out of his forehead and trails soft caresses over his body. Gentle kisses are placed over his face. Sam can feel himself grinning. He is inexplicably happy. Like, genuinely, from the core, happy. “Can we, like, _not_ psychoanalyze what just happened?” Sam says.

Tom actually giggles so Sam opens his eyes only to be met with equally happy looking bright eyes and a grin as wide as his own. "Kid, when it comes to our psychological issues, you could probably write a thesis paper on the subject."

Sam chortles. “Let’s not.”

”Let’s not,” Tom agrees. He leans in and kisses Sam sweetly.

Morning breath or not, Sam revels in it. Sam will of course psychoanalyze the shit of their whole time together later. He always does. But right now Tom has switched to the loving mode that seems to be who he really is and Sam can feel himself brimming with responding emotions. When they break the kiss Sam strokes his cheek and look at him with a soft smile. “You know, it’s easy to see why so many ‘I love you’s’ are said post-coital. Because right now, I do,” he says. It’s a stupid thing to say and he is almost expecting Tom to panic and distance himself from Sam’s admission. But he doesn’t. 

Tom’s eyes brims with emotions, getting a bit moist. He gathers Sam closer to himself and hides his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam hears him swallow once, twice. Silence lingers for a while and Sam strokes Tom’s neck and shoulder, waiting with baited breath. When Tom finally speaks he sounds a bit choked up. “You did right, placing the ‘A’ over my heart, Sam…” he draws a deep breath and comes up from his hiding place by Sam’s neck. He is smiling warmly. “You’ll be my downfall in more ways than you’ll ever get to know.”

Sam frowns, suddenly struck with worry and a bad conscious.

”Hey, hey. Kid, it’s okay. Don’t worry. It’s okay. I’m glad. I’m grateful I met you. I’m glad you stayed,” Tom quickly reassures. He kisses Sam again, that kind of mind blowing syrupy kiss he does so well and all negative thoughts just melts away, leaving only a flutter in his chest and an overwhelming sense of affection.

* * *

They make love one more time and when it’s time for Sam to go they kiss by the door for 20 minutes before Sam can muster the strength to tear himself away. He doesn’t want to go and Tom doesn’t want him to leave. He is filled with mixed emotions when he comes back to the room he shares with Dean and Benny. Part of him is floating on air, filled with happy butterflies, part of him feels desperately sad. 

Dean meets him just inside the door. “Hey stud! Gotten yourself some hardcore action tonight did ya?” he says grinning and holds up his hand for a high five.

”So hardcore I can barely walk,” Sam answers grinning and slaps Dean’s hand. 

”That’s my boy!”

_If you only knew…_

* * *


	3. Toys for big Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's second meeting with Tom comes three months after the first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter has a twin chapter from Tom's POV here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4032760/chapters/9196351)
> 
> I had planned chapter three to be of Sam's first threesome. That didn't happen. This chapter more or less wrote itself after I finished Tom's POV in The Depraved. I kinda love this. Two separate POV's of the same scene.
> 
> Unless you're sensitive to underage there's no particular triggers here I don't think. Sam is still 16, Tom 33.

* * *

# A Hopeless Crush

* * *

Sam’s sitting in Brady's couch, Brady to his right, a girl named Christa to his left and school books spread out in front of him on the coffee table. There’s three other girls and two guys gathered in the living room with them. Sam is having a hard time concentrating and drums his pencil against his notebook in annoyance. He’s not the only one. 

"Oh my god. This is so lame. I thought you were supposed to be the cool kids? What's he doing here?" Jenny, a new girl, is saying and gestures towards Mark, a scrawny guy with thick glasses sitting by the end of the coffee table. 

Mark curls in on himself defensively, making himself small and concentrates harder on the math equation in front of him. Sam's getting really pissed off and is about to snap but Brady speaks up faster. "He’s studying. Which is what you should be doing," he says coldly. 

"He could do our homework for us," Jenny says. 

"No. Then we wouldn’t learn anything. But he is wickedly good at math and can help us out with it if we stall," Sam says. 

"Nobody is forcing you to be here, Jenny. You want to hang out with us you may. But when you're in my home you better damn well be respectful to my other guests or you can just fuck off," Brady adds. Mark hides a smile and Sam can relate. Many years of being bullied himself for being smart and actually liking to study he is fully aware of how it feels to all the sudden be treated with respect and have people stand up for you. 

Jenny looks around for support, finding none. "Fine. I don’t wanna hang out with a bunch of bookworms anyway. See you later, losers," she says and leaves. They keep their mouths shut until they hear the door slam. 

"Sorry bout that. She seemed cool when I talked to her earlier," Christa says, embarrassed by being the one to have invited her. 

"It’s alright. She had me fooled too," Brady admits. 

"You alright, Mark?" a girl named Melanie asks and puts a hand on his shoulder, consequently making him flush a deep crimson. He’s very shy when it comes to girls except when talking about what he’s good at, like math and photography. Sam’s pretty sure Melanie has a crush on him. She’s smart and sweet but when Mark is around she keeps asking stupid questions about math so he'll lean close to explain. Mark, of course, is oblivious. 

They've been doing this for a while now. Meeting up at Brady's to study a couple of hours on Saturdays before they party. At first it was just he and Brady, but slowly more and more people had started to join them. Travis, a quarterback from the school team took every chance he could get to study with them and his grades had shot skywards because of it. Brady set the standard for what was cool but Sam's addition to his clique had started to make the groups mix and gave people like Mark, smart and socially awkward, a chance at hanging with the popular kids without being bullied or used. 

It was hardly perfect. Bullying and segregation still existed in school, they were teenagers after all. Sam wasn’t above it either. He could turn downright mean to people he didn’t like if he thought it was justified. He was a bit blind to the impact it had. In theory he knew he was considered one of the most popular kids in school thanks to Brady. But he didn't really grasp the reality of it and still identified more with the bullied nerds than the popular jocks, despite that he was one of them nowadays. He would have heady power trips now and then when he noticed things he had influenced. Like Mark's rise in status. He was more often than not oblivious to the darker consequences of his power. Jenny for an instance―the new girl―was going to suffer for gaining the dislike of Brady and Sam. She had a future of being an outcast to look forward to as she would find out Monday at school. 

Christa was Brady's girlfriend at the moment. Sam didn’t date, but Brady did. That didn't stop them from fooling around from time to time when Sam felt like it. Another power trip inducing thing―that Brady wouldn’t, no, _couldn’t_ refuse him. But for the most part they were just really good friends. They hung out all the time in school and quite a lot outside of it. Sam spent a lot of time by himself though, or with Dean. He never really felt like he fit in with everybody else. Plus there was the issue of his three big secrets. About dad, Michael, and Lucifer. He’d tried to let some details slip to Brady and a couple of others he liked and trusted, about the truth of his upbringing. But he couldn’t handle the upset and the _pity_. Their reactions had made him feel so much like a friggin’ _victim_ and that was when he was just scratching the surface. It didn’t matter if he was a victim or not, he hated feeling like one. Hated being reduced to something defenseless and pitiful in the eyes of his friends. Like he was no longer a full person, just somebody who had suffered and nothing more.

Nowadays he’d just shrug and say his parents died when he was little if he got asked why he lived with his brother. He'd still get pitying looks, but those weren’t as hard to bear as those he got if he told small details of the worse parts of living with dad when he had one of his spells. People shied away from asking more about dead parents. They didn’t know what to say, feeling guilty that they still had parents or whatever. Parents were overrated. He had Dean. Dean was enough. (Fine. So he had Bobby, Gabe, and to some extent Ellen too. Odd how easy that was to ignore.)

The conversation drifts back onto the various things they’re studying when Sam's phone rings. He frowns at the number, not recognising it. He briefly considers not answering, but then picks up anyway. "Hi. Sam speaking." There’s a slight pause on the other end of the line, then... 

"I'm really overstepping my bounds by making this call, aint I, demon child?" the warm soft voice says and Sam sucks in a surprised breath. He’d never thought he would hear that round Irish-American accent again, but _Holy Shit_ had he wanted to!

”No!” he protests―way too fast―afraid Tom’s going to hang up. His heart flutters. “ I mean, no. Not at all. Hold on. Gimme a sec. I just…” he flusters while trying to sound less desperate. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand and gets up, seeking eye contact with Brady. “Guys, I’ve been waiting for this call. I gotta take this. Don’t disturb me, alright?” He hates that he can feel his cheeks starting to heat up and hopes the blush isn’t too bad.

”Yeah, sure. Take my room. Nobody’ll disturb you there,” Brady says while eyeing him curiously. The others chime in their agreement and Sam mouths a silent ‘ _Thanks_ ’ and hurries upstairs. He closes the door and flops down on the bed, adjusting the pillow slightly. His heart is beating faster than a simple phone call should warrant. He is nervous and feels suddenly really friggin’ shy. “Hey, Tom,” he says, sounding bashful. “I’ didn’t think you were going to call me…” his voice betrays his insecurity and he scrunches his eyes shut. He digs his hand not holding the phone into the roots of his hair and squeezes. He doesn’t want to come off as some lost little boy.

”It took me some time to find your number, kid,” Tom says ruefully. His voice then tilts upward hopefully. “You’ve been waiting for me to call?”

_Yes I have. I’ve missed you like crazy. I was floating on clouds for weeks after we met at the same time I’ve been really depressed. Please tell me you want to see me again? I don’t want this to be a one time thing._ He doesn’t say that of course. His sheer desperation would probably put Tom off. It’s fucking dumb. Crushing on a married man who lives who knows where. What would he want with Sam anyway? Beside the thrill of screwing a teenager which obviously had turned him on. But it had _felt_ like much more than that. It was like a little void inside of him had been filled. It wasn’t like being with Lucifer where everything just clicked into place and he felt whole and belonging (besides, him and Lucifer had nothing to do with sex. It wasn’t like _that_ ). He’d still felt out of place and kinda lost like he always did when he was with Tom that time, but somehow it hadn’t mattered. It was like he’d still been lost but they’d been lost together somehow so it was okay. He’d been overthinking this obviously. Nothing new there. ”Would you think me a total loser if I say yes? I mean. I get it. I do. You _can’t_. I understand that. But I kinda hoped you would anyway. Pathetic, right?”

Sam holds his breath and waits for Tom’s answer. “Nu-uh. I called, didn’t I?” Sam’s stomach flip-flops at the playful tone of Tom’s voice. It sounds like he’s smiling and talking through somewhat gritted teeth. Sam wonders if he’s doing that thing where he’s biting his thumbnail like he does when he’s embarrassed. The thought makes Sam chuckle lowly, bolstered by what seems like interest.

”Yeah…” Sam says, voice gone warm and soft like his insides. “Can I see you again?” There’s a dragging silence that follows the question. Suddenly Sam’s afraid he’ll say no. Lucifer always says he should just take what he wants and Dean leads by example - ‘fake it ‘til you make it’. Sam sets out to persuade Tom, stomach churning nervously. “Look. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I just want to see you, you know?” _But I want more than that. Sex with you was the best I’ve ever had._ “I mean, I’m not saying no if you wanna have your way with me,” he purrs suggestively with a cocky smirk on his face before he catches himself and backtracks not to pressure Tom too much. “But we can just talk. I’ve been thinking about you. A lot, actually,” he admits earnestly. “And I dunno. Just…” He pauses, staring up on the ceiling and petting his own hair soothingly. It sucks not being able to read Tom’s expression. There’s no way to gauge if he’s coming off as pathetic or if it’s working. Screw it. “ _Please_?”

It’s friggin’ odd, but since Michael started roping him in and subjecting him to torture without scorning him for begging he no longer thought it such big a deal to beg. When the pain was too much his mouth spoke words of it’s own accord, saying virtually anything to make it stop. Movies deemed this to be something shameful. You should just be able to suffer through torture stoically or you were weak. Lucifer (and Michael) didn’t see it that way. According to Lucifer he was strong and resilient even if he never felt that way when he was crying like a baby and begging. He just felt humiliated. But in the face of that, losing face in the more mundane parts of his life seemed such a insignificant thing.

Tom breaks into laughter. The open and free kind of laugh, not mocking. Sam still waits uncertainly, unsure if it’s a good thing or not. “Of course I want to see you, kid. I’ve been thinking of you too,” Tom says when he’s stopped laughing and Sam has to bite his hand not to whoop out loud. “We’re playing the Angels tonight so I’ll be in twin towns. That’s where you live, right?” 

”Yeah, it is,” Sam replies, grinning broadly.

”I don’t know how much time I’ll will have. And perhaps it would be for the best if we did actually just talk this time if you’re okay with that?”

”Yeah. Yeah, of course! Can we meet before the game?” Sam doesn’t want to wait a minute longer than he has to.

”Sure we can. I can be there in maybe two hours depending on traffic. Then I’ll have maybe 45 minutes to an hour before I got to get ready. Is it enough for you?”

”It’s fine. We can meet on the parking lot by my school,” Sam says. The rest of the conversation is just details to set it up. As soon as they’ve hung up Sam can’t hold back a triumphant “ _YEESSS!_ ” and kick his heels repeatedly against the bed. He sits up abruptly, heart hammering in excitement. _Okay. Calm down. He just wants to talk._ As much as Sam wants to talk to Tom too, he really, _really_ wants to have sex with him. Sam’s not used to being turned down, mainly because he mostly sleeps with girls who makes it very clear that that’s what they want. And who knows? Maybe one hour is all Sam will get. Maybe this time it really is the last time he’ll see Tom. If that’s the case he _has_ to make the most of it. He’s a bit insecure about his height. He’s grown a bit these last three months. What if Tom won’t like that? As big a turn on as their age- and subsequent power difference (paired with the feeling of trust that Tom wouldn’t abuse that power) had proven to be to Sam, he had a real fear that no matter what it had felt like, Tom only wanted him for his youth, and that if he grew too tall he wouldn’t be "twinky" enough. 

Sam gets up and paces the room back and forth, full of excited nervous energy. Two, almost three weeks, after their meeting Sam had still been checking his phone constantly until he resigned himself to the fact that Tom wouldn’t call. Of course it was possible Tom hadn’t found his number yet, but Sam had _thought_ he had and berated himself for following his impulse to program his number into the phone in the first place, _and_ for getting his hopes up. He knew there were a thousand reasons for Tom not to call. But he couldn’t help himself, he wanted it too much. He was crushing hard and people had noticed. One minute he'd been skipping along with a dumb grin, the next he'd been sighing mournfully, dragging his feet. All depending on if he was thinking of their time together or the nonexistent chance of seeing Tom again. 

But now he had called! 

A plan of how to convince Tom, to both sleep with him and hopefully meet up with him after the game, is beginning to take shape. He isn't sure he'll have the guts to go through with it, but either way he has to get home first. He can change clothes there and fret about whether or not he'll be brave enough to make use of the thing he bought a mere week after his night with Tom. 

Sam hurries downstairs to collect his books. "Sorry guys. Gotta go. Dean," is all he says. (' _Dean_ ' is excuse enough after the big “shoe crisis” he had a while back. Don’t ask.) Then he's off, not waiting for goodbye. 

* * *

Sam gets to his knees and pulls out the shoebox from under his bed. He puts it on the bed and gets up. Just for good measure he goes to lock the door to his room. Dean’s not at home, but you never know. Dean had a knack of showing up at the most inopportune moment and if Sam did this and Dean _did_ walk in on him... Sam shudders. He’d die from embarrassment alone. 

He lifts off the top off the shoebox and puts it aside, then lifts out the content almost reverently and put them on the bed. He had used them already just to try it out, and to practise. But this is no drill. This is the occasion he’d bought them for. The notion that made him buy them in the first place. They came in a box of five, all in different sizes, all in different colours. They were beautiful. If he hadn’t known what they were he’d have taken them for some kind of ornaments. Things to line up prettily on display in the glass cabinet in the living room. They didn’t have one. But Brady’s family did. He imagines these showcased along with Swarovski glasses, bowls from Kosta Boda in Sweden, and glass sculptures by David Patchen, and lets out an amused snort. Why not? They looked like they were made of smooth crystal glass after all. They weren’t. They were made by some kind of plastic. As to why not?―because they were butt plugs that’s why.

They had gone to the city, he and Dean. There they had split up because Dean―for all he called Sam “Samantha” and accused him for being girly―was the one who took any chance he got to browse through brand name clothes stores if he wasn’t with friends. He could spend hours in stores which sold Armani, Ralph Lauren, Burberry and so on. Needless to say, Sam could _not_. Hence, they split up. Sam had wandered around aimlessly and come upon a sex toy store. These butt plugs had caught his attention and curiosity. Partly because he was still full of thoughts of what sex with Tom had been like, partly because they were beautiful. The smallest one was almost black unless you held it to the light. Then you saw it was really deep midnight blue. The next one had the colour of clear honey or whiskey. The next a beautiful sea green. The next a deep cherry pink and the largest was clear like water. They all sparkled beautifully when light shone through them.

Since he was still hopeful that Tom would call he’d wondered what he’d do if they met up and Sam was wearing one. The thought had excited him and so he had bought them. He had worn the three smaller ones to school to get the hang of moving freely with something up his butt. It was awkward as hell. He was all hot and bothered and a wrong move could either be really friggin uncomfortable or nudge his good spot at inopportune moments. Shifting in your seat in class and suddenly find your prostate probed in a delicious way made it almost impossible to keep a straight face. He’d wondered if he was the only one walking around with a hidden toy or if anyone else in school was too. That made him scrutinize the fidgety kids with dodgy eye movements who easily blushed harder. Maybe they weren't shy and awkward. Maybe they were just sexual deviants?

The bigger ones he hadn’t braved for school yet. Mainly because they required more prep and he may not be averse to early mornings but it was a bit over the top to get up extra early to stretch himself. He’d tried them at home though. Now he lifted the biggest one and stared at it, mouth dry. The question was, would Tom find this ridiculously hot, or just ridiculous? It was a gamble. He didn’t like to gamble if he didn’t know for sure he was going to win. He had one hour, maybe less with Tom. It was make or break. He would do this.

* * *

Less than an hour until he’d see Tom. The largest plug was now firmly in place. It was so big it kept a steady almost-pressure on his prostate. Just enough to tease, but not enough to please. Horny as hell and belly full of nervous swoops he contemplated what to wear. He looked better in jeans, but soft sports pants had the advantage of being much easier to remove and you felt more through the fabric. He opts for the latter and puts on a pair of Adidas pants, a simple tee and a zip up hoodie. He walks around in the apartment for a while to get used to the feel of the plug. With all this restless energy inside of him he can’t wait at home. He just can’t. He grabs his Free Will team jacket and heads out. Halfway down the stairs he stops when a thought hits him and makes the self-doubt crawl inside of him again. What if it’s just the age thing that does it for Tom?

He turns and walks back up again. There he changes from the Free Will jacket to his letterman jacket instead. Better to stereotype than take any risks. He looks himself in the mirror again and battles for a couple of minutes with a lock of hair which refuses to know its place. Finally satisfied he heads out for real this time. He walks as briskly as he can with the plug inside of him. It’s constant teasing makes Sam half hard just by walking. He wants to stop, reach back inside of his pants and fuck himself on the offending plug, push and pull at it, rotate it to get a fuller stimulation. For obvious reasons he doesn’t. Wouldn’t really look good if he bent himself over the hood of the closest car and fucked himself wantonly until he came. _Yeah. I think not._ Besides, it may be warm for december, but it’s still cold with a moderate amount of snow. He isn’t going to let himself catch pneumonia unless he had Tom draped over his back as a reward. 

He’s halfway to school when Tom calls. Their conversation is brief and Sam’s almost grateful. By now he has worked himself into an impressive amount of nerves and doubt. He’s practically bouncing with agitated anticipation at the same time as his mind plays a cinematic medley of ways Tom may turn him down, anything from a polite letdown to disgust at ever having anything to do with Sam. He pops a piece of gum in his mouth and chews incessantly to calm down (it doesn't work). Just as he suspected there’s nobody by the school when he gets there. People usually stay away during weekends. 

He doesn’t want Tom to know how nervous he is. He wants to look cool and nonchalant about the whole thing. To appear as the person his peers at school seem to view him as. It’s hard this time. For a moment he is on the verge of panic, thinking Tom will change his mind on the way and won't show up at all. It had been easy by the bar. Then he'd had nothing to lose and everything to win. 

_It won’t look good if I pace back and forth like some mad pollywog. What would Dean do?_  
_Dean would lean casually on something and do that stupid “How you doin?”-nod. Come to think of it, Lucifer would lean too. Leaning it is then._

Sam goes to the brick wall by the parking lot and tries out at least fifteen poses. It’s cold. His hands and face are freezing. The minty chewing gum makes every inhale feel extra cold so he spits it out. Finally he settles on leaning his back against the wall and hitching one foot against the brick behind him, arms crossed over his chest.

_This is good. This looks nonchalant. I’m chill. I’m cool. He won’t be able to resist me._  
_Oh my god, I’m such a loser! Get a grip, Winchester!_

He’d probably feel more relaxed if his foot hitched against the wall didn’t keep slipping down all the time so he had to strain himself to hold the pose to make it look comfortable. He considers changing the pose again but then a car rolls into the parking lot and it’s too late. His mouth is dry all at once and he swallows thickly. He spots Tom in the driver’s seat. His heart rate speeds up and his stomach flip flops. He _really_ hopes it doesn’t shine through how nervous and tense he is. _Or_ that he’s so excited he wants to jump up and down in place.

_It’s cool. I’m cool. Just take it easy and hold it together. I can do this._

Tom parks level with him, two meters away, and gets out. He’s just as friggin hot as Sam remembers. Grey hoodie, with a black leather jacket (perfect fit, none of that too big business), navy gym pants and trainers. Just a hint of stubble and those blue eyes… Same colour as Lucifer’s but with none of the coldness. Sam wants to say something, but can’t think of anything. _Words? What are words?_ Nothing. His mind draw blanks. He wants to just throw himself in Tom’s arms and kiss the living shit out of that wide mouth but he’s frozen in place. They’re just looking at each other and what if Tom is disappointed and doesn’t want him to do it and what if… He’s working himself into an internal panic. He feels more tongue tied and awkward than Mark is with girls and _Oh god this was a bad idea!_

"Shit. Kid, you're even more gorgeous than I remember. Didn’t think that was possible," Tom says, voice slightly hoarse, breaking the silence.

The relief Sam feels is so palpable it’s a wonder he doesn’t sag against the wall from it. Tom still wants him. _I can work with that._ He tries for a cheeky lopsided smirk but the sheer exhilarated joy he feels probably gives him away. Tom grins in response, eyes sparkling, and that’s all Sam needs to dispel his inability to move. He pushes himself off the wall and in two long strides he’s up close and cupping Tom’s warm cheeks. He licks his parted lips unconsciously, leans in head tilted to kiss him but then hesitates. Tom just wanted to talk he said. Maybe he doesn’t want this?

Tom has no such scruples. He winds his arms around Sam inside of the open letterman jacket and presses their chests flush together, then his warm lips meets Sam’s cold ones, tongue slipping in and _Holy shit!_ Sam has missed this!

Kissing Tom is like drinking liquid sunshine. It’s intoxicating like a shot of whiskey but without the burn. Sam feels lightheaded. Fluttery warmth spreads from his abdomen through his body. Sparks of electricity run through his spine and he is getting hard _real fast_. The plug certainly isn’t helping him keep his arousal in check. He lets go of Tom’s cheeks and digs his fingers into Tom’s back instead, locking him into place. He makes needy, whiny noises into the kiss but doesn’t give a shit. He’s got three months worth of pining feeding his fire.

Tom grinds their crotches together (Friggin’ Heaven!) and Sam can feel Tom’s erection. If he had any doubts Tom still wants him, they’re gone now. Tom breaks the kiss, slightly out of breath and Sam makes a petulant noise in protest. He doesn’t want to stop. He’d be throwing a fit if Tom wasn’t still holding him close. "We should get in the car before we're seen. You know somewhere we can park without being disturbed?" Tom asks. 

_Yes. Right. Not being disturbed sounds like a good plan. Right._ “Yeah. Sure. There’s a look out spot by the lake that nobody uses during the winter.”

”Then lets go.”

Tom comes with Sam around the car, one arm at the small of his back, and opens the door for him. It’s a kinda romantic gesture. Not something people usually do for him. He tries not to let it make him feel special but it does anyway. Getting in the car and sitting down without letting his face and demeanor give away the plug inside of him is not easy. Not when the act of sitting nudges it juuuust right and he’s already as turned on as he is. Luckily Tom closes the door and rounds the car so Sam gets the chance to shift to make the pressure less gratifying.

Tom gets in, puts the seatbelt on and starts the car. He doesn’t remark on the fact that Sam hasn’t put his seatbelt on, instead he just asks for directions and Sam gives a short description. As they drive off Tom takes his hand. Just like that. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sam’s breath lodges in his throat for a moment as something in his chest swells to its double size. He tries to hide how much it affects him. Dean’s the sap in the family. Not him. But when Tom starts stroking the back of his hand with his thumb it’s all he can do not to gaze adoringly at the older man.

Yet again Sam doesn’t know what to say. The silence lingers. It’s an odd combination of super awkwardly tense and vastly comfortable. They keep throwing each other looks and every time their eyes meet they smile. Every smile Sam gets makes his stomach flutter. Tom is the first to break the silence yet again. “So how’s school?” 

Sam rolls his head to the side against the backrest, looking at him, narrowing his eyes and lips curling into a faint smirk. _Of course he’d go for that topic,_ Sam thinks with amusement. _Him being a responsible adult and all._ “Straight A’s all the way. Don’t think I could do worse than that even if I tried,” he says with arrogant confidence. It’s true though. He’s a friggin master at studying. He likes it. It sets him apart from most his peers that he considers learning a highly entertaining past time. That, paired with his athletic abilities, makes him a straight A student. He can’t do art to save his life though. Dean can. Another one of his big brother’s talents he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. Give Dean a pencil and a ruler and he can create anything from a house plan to a car. Once Sam has even seen Dean draw a very lifelike horse using a ruler. It’s like Dean sees the world like a computer program. Everything is lines, points a certain distance from the horizon. The horse had started out as blocks and circles and then Dean had just added sharp angles, layer upon increasingly smaller layers until the horse had been 3D. It was awesome. Dean had burned the drawing. Sam didn’t understand why his brother was so afraid of showing off his creative talents. He could easily become an architect, inventor, or designer.

”You planning to go to college?”

This is a sensitive topic. Sam’s arrogance drains from him. “Nah. I play hockey in Free Will’s youth division. Gonna play professionally like Dean when I’m old enough. I’m not a natural like him but it’ll do. Usta want to become a lawyer when I was younger. Like, go to Stanford an’ stuff. But after dad died I figured what I really had wanted was to get away from him. And I dunno. Hockey is as good a profession as any. Gabe, our coach, kinda adopted me an’ Dean like a wacky uncle or something a couple of years ago so I guess it makes it the family business?”

Tom chuckles and smiles broadly at him, eyes sparkling. “I used to have posters of ‘The Trickster’ on my wall for motivation when I was young. He was one of a kind. Skating like it was nobody’s business, inventive like you wouldn’t believe, and making headlines with all his antics off the ice. Is he as cool in reality as he seems?”

_That’s so weird. I mean, I know Gabe was a huge star back in the days. But him being Tom’s idol? Just… weird._ Sam grins at him. “I guess. He’s always pulling pranks and stuff. But he’s really sharp, you know? And he cares. He hides it behind jokes ‘n stuff but he does things… I dunno. When others look the other way he helps instead. He’s the one who got Dean to play hockey to begin with…” Sam trails off and looks out of the window, slightly uncomfortable all the sudden. Too many bad memories and too many secrets threatening to spill over. There’s something about Tom that makes him trust the man. Like he could just spill _everything_ to him. They have only met once before for crying out loud! He should really be more careful about what he says.

Tom doesn’t push the issue. Sam can feel him looking, feel him _wanting_ to ask, but he doesn’t and Sam keeps his gaze stubbornly out the window not to encourage him. After a while Tom speaks up, changing the subject. ”I regret not going to college.” 

_Great! Here we go. This is why he doesn’t like to talk about school with grown-ups._ He feels himself go rigid in defense. He’s tired of hearing about how it’d be such a waste for ‘such a talented student’ not to go to college. How he’d throw his life away and blah, blah, _blah._ Sam’s head snap around to focus at Tom. He raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Are you gonna give a speech about the importance of education now?” he says defensively.

Tom laughs and squeezes his hand. “Not even close, kid. No. I have just begun to fret about the future, that’s all. When I started playing hockey professionally I didn’t worry about what would happen when I couldn’t play anymore. Now though? If I’m lucky I get to play until I’m what? 40? 42? And after that I’ll be chained to suburbia and a lifestyle I don’t like and I don’t know what I’m going to do then.”

_Oh._  
_Shit._  
_I had forgot about that._

Sam thinks about the confessions he had demanded out of Tom. About his loveless (well, not _that_ kind of love anyway) marriage, about keeping up appearance in front of friends and family that would disown and loath him if they knew about his sexuality. About his fear of losing his children. About the super-judgmental religion that permeates Tom’s community. He thinks about telling Tom to just leave once his children are old enough but then he thinks that maybe Tom can’t. Just like Dean can’t leave Sam, or Lucifer can’t defy Michael (why is that anyway?). Sam wonders how devout Tom really is. He had talked about going to hell like he believed it. He has a crucifix hanging from his car key. _And_ he speaks with a lot of religious overtones. What if he truly believes in what he was told growing up? What if he does love God, but believes God will never love him because of his sexuality. If he believes in old-fashioned ideas like God frowning upon divorce he might stay with his wife just to spare her the risk of going to hell. Sam could imagine Tom doing that. He’s a good man with a generous caring heart. Just the thought of toiling under such constant suffocating pressure, drowning in lies, and being forced to always deny himself who he is and what he wants… the very thought makes Sam’s heart clench painfully for Tom. Yet he hasn’t noted anything that hints at Tom begrudging everyone else their freedom.

Tom smiles widely and shrugs like it’s not a big thing. Sam’s not buying it. It’s the _smile-through-a-shitload-of-pain_ -smile. Sam’s expression has shifted into sympathy laced with concerned understanding. He squeezes Tom’s hand. Tom’s eyes betrays a slight unease and vulnerability when he does and Sam is 100% sure he’s right about Tom in this. But before Sam can say anything Tom speaks up again. "Is this where we need to turn?"

Sam accepts the change of subject, just like Tom had respected his unwillingness to talk about his past. "Yeah. You’ll see when we're there. Can’t miss it."

Tom turns the car onto a forest road covered in snow. There’s a few tire tracks but they have been snowed over, showing how rarely this road is used. A minute later the road comes to an end on a ledge overlooking the frozen lake. It’s beautiful here. During winter it’s mostly just Dean who comes here. Sometimes bringing Sam to look at the stars. Especially nights during the full moon. Then it’s downright magical. ”Wow. This must be the number one make out spot during summer," Tom says as he parks the car and kills the engine. 

”It is." Sam turns his body towards him, tilts his head to the side so his bangs falls over one eye, and looks at him from under his lashes, body gearing up in anticipation. “Wanna take advantage of that?" he says with a small lopsided smirk and voice full of promise. 

Tom unbuckles his seatbelt and turns towards Sam. He drapes one arm over the backrest of Sam’s seat and reaches out to stroke his cheek with rough fingers. Sam’s heart starts beating faster. There’s no mistaking the want in Tom’s eyes, the way they trail over his face, down his body, and up again. His gaze lingers on Sam’s jacket for a beat, then his lips. He strokes the hair out of Sam’s face and runs his fingers through it. Sam is keeping still, just enjoying the touches. There’s something reverent about how Tom touches him, just like Lucifer (except there’s no burning want in Lucifer’s eyes) and Sam _loves_ it. He’s getting goosebumps all over and blood is pumping down to his nether regions. Tom scrapes his nails against Sam’s scalp, making him shiver. Tom sees it and smiles. "I bet you never had a bad hair day in your life," he says as the hair falls back into place. 

Sam huffs in amusement thinking of the stubborn lock of hair he’d battled with before leaving home, and his cheeks colours faintly at the compliment. "You'd lose that bet," he says, smiling. 

"Not a chance." Tom trails his fingers over his face in soft reverence. Sam's breath becomes more shallow. Tom is looking at his eyes almost spellbound, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. This naked adoration is messing with Sam’s feelings on a level he hasn’t got words to describe. He’s so turned on it’s unfair. Tom rubs his thumb over his lower lip his breath stutters and he swallows thickly. _Come on! Kiss me already!_

Like he’d heard Sam’s silent plea Tom leans in slowly to kiss him, then he suddenly halts, eyes turning concerned. “Sam. I need you to be a 100% honest with me now. I’m sorry to have to ask such sensitive question, but I’ve got to know…” _No. No. No. Don’t ask me to be honest about sensitive stuff. I don’t wanna tell!_ Sam freezes up in apprehension of what Tom wants to know. “Were you ever sexually abused or raped?”

_Oh._ Not a question Sam had feared and he relaxes again. Sure, Michael was freakishly intimate in a distant sort of way sometimes, but nothing like that. More like running a finger along Sam’s cheek in the mimicry of affection and stuff. Nothing Sam would count as sexual abuse. In fact, Michael had said ‘ _There’ll be no fucking of any kind between us,_ ’ and for all he was a monster, he (seemingly so far) was a monster of his word. What he said he stood for verbatim. Same as the rules he made. If Sam managed to find a flaw or a loophole he was never punished for taking advantage of those. On the contrary, Michael seemed strangely delighted the few times he’d ‘disobeyed’ him and then quoted him back, pointing out the loophole.

Sam’s relief must have been written all over his face because he hardly gets the word “No,” out before Tom closes the distance and kisses him. Tom is the best kisser _ever_. It’s mindblowing how fantastic it is kissing him. It’s like the difference between hearing someone play Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker on a toy piano compared to hearing a whole symphony orchestra play it. Sam lets Tom lead, copying everything that feels good. Kissing Tom had actually influenced how he kissed in general. Tom’s way of kissing had made such an impact on him that he had taken to using his methods as best as he could. Brady had noticed. ‘ _Fuck, Sam. Where’d you learn to kiss like that?_ ’ He hadn’t told him. Obviously. Tom was _his _and he wasn’t going to share this secret. He’d never jeopardize Tom like that. He hadn’t even told Lucifer and he told Lucifer _everything_. For some reason he didn’t think it would go over well. That came down to the hard possessive order Lucifer had given him. ‘ _Don't let_ anybody _claim you._ ’ Sam wanted nothing more than to let Tom claim him. Over, and over, and over. He was scared of what would happen if Lucifer found out since in some fucked up way he already belonged to Lucifer. He did. He knew that deep in his soul to be true. He _needed_ Lucifer, wasn’t whole without him. (And how messed up is that, really?) But Lucifer didn’t want _this_ from him. And what Sam felt for Tom… it was totally different from what he felt for Lucifer yet just as real. It was friggin stupid to fall for Tom. Funny, really. How so many of the best things in his life were stupid and logic-defying. Feelings never took ‘smart’ and ‘logic’ into the equation.__

Their kisses start out as slow and syrupy, soft, teasing, and explorative. It doesn’t take long before it burns away every thought process that doesn’t concern here and now, sizzling like electricity and warmth throughout Sam’s body. The intensity of the kisses grows increasingly, becoming more demanding, more heated, like distilled sex. Tom’s still only touching him above the shoulders and Sam’s clinging to him, scraping nails through the hair at the nape of his neck, his other arm hooked around his shoulder. Sam’s dizzy, his cock is pulsating in his pants, demanding to be let out. He’s panting into the kisses now, buzzing with pure _want_ , sucking on Tom’s lips, nipping, demanding. It’s not enough. _It’s not enough._ He wants more. Screw just talking. If Tom says he doesn’t want more than this he’s lying. Sam wants him inside of him with frightening urgency. _Now_.

He breaks the kiss, both of them panting harshly. Tom’s pupils are huge, his cheeks are flushed, and his parted lips are swollen and spit slicked. He looks confused as to why Sam stopped and Sam glares at him. Fuck him if he thinks Sam is going to settle for this. Sam kicks his shoes off and heaves himself over to straddle Tom with a defiant hiss. It’s an awkward move in the confined space and one of his legs is pinched uncomfortably against the car door. He hardly notices. “I want you inside of me,” he says and bends down to kiss Tom again. The movement makes his spine bump against the car horn in the middle of the steering wheel. The sudden sound sends a thrill of panic at being caught through Sam’s body and he jerks in startlement. (Tom does too.) They blink wide eyed at each other for the duration of time it takes for them to figure out the origin of the noise then the both of them break out in relieved nervous laughter.

Sam isn’t _that_ bothered by other people catching him going at it. He’s not exhibitionistic, by all means, but he’s not shy about it either. Dean’s annoying habit at popping up at inconvenient moments like Woody Woodpecker, Lucifer watching him from a distance (Sam’s sure he does. He knows too many things about Sam not to.), and the thing he does with Brady sometimes with the help of a webcam, all those things has kinda washed shyness out of him. This is different though. If they get caught Tom’s life would be ruined. While the knowledge of that adds a messed up thrill to all of it, it’s also something Sam doesn’t want to happen. The relief he feels is substantial and leaves him giddy.

Tom adjusts the seat backwards to give them more space and rucks up Sam’s shirts to wrap his arms around him, stroking the skin of his back with the rough pads of his fingers. The sensation makes Sam shiver. “As much as I want that too, my sweet demon child, there’s not enough time to work you open,” Tom says with a regretful smile.

Sam’s narrows his eyes slyly, and a wicked smirk grows on his lips. This is it. The moment of truth. Now he will find out if Tom will find this ridiculous or ridiculously hot. Sam’s money is on the latter. He bends down and whispers in Tom’s ear at the same time as he reaches around his back to guide Tom’s hands down to his ass. “Good thing you gave me two hours to prep then, huh?” he purrs.

Tom’s breath catches in his throat when his fingers connect with the outline of a plug through the fabric of Sam’s pants. “Dear Jesus Christ! Are you trying to kill me, kid?” he asks, voice hoarse and unbelieving.

Sam chuckles darkly. “Nu-uh. Then I would have used a gun, stupid,” he jokes. He’s already digging his hands into Tom’s pants, gripping his cock in both hands and stroking it, turning Tom’s giddy laugh into a strangled sound. Tom’s rock hard and leaking precome, twitching in Sam’s grip. His own cock jerks in response.

” _Shit._ You devious imp. You were never going to ‘just talk’, were you?” Tom scolds breathlessly.

”We are talking. I’m pleading my case,” Sam says, grinning and kissing Tom’s neck.

"You presumptuous little _brat_. And what a convincing case you make," he answers through gritted teeth, sliding his hands inside Sam's pants to push and pull gently on the plug. The sensation sends thrill upon thrill up Sam’s spine. He makes needy little whines of pleasure with every teasing stimulation. He’s so turned on that if Tom keeps that up he might come without having felt Tom inside of him. That’s not good enough. He digs up lube and condoms from his jacket pocket and Tom lets out a laugh, full of unrestrained _happiness_. It resounds somewhere deep inside of Sam and he bites his tongue not to say anything because if he does it’ll be something sappy and stupid. "You cheeky child of Lucifer. You’re just going to take what you want and won't accept a no for an an answer, will you?"

Now _that_ makes Sam’s brain short circuit and he chokes on his own spit, then chortles, and falls onto Tom’s chest in a pile of giggles at the thoughts that statement births. Tom certainly meant, like, the _actual_ devil. But he really hit a nail with that one. It _is_ Lucifer that has coached him to take what he wants, to be demanding and act as if he has the right to it. Sam is, in a way, a child of Lucifer’s. And the two worlds colliding by Tom bringing it up is just total mindfuckery.

Sam is expecting Tom to look confused by his little meltdown, but he does anything but. He looks _predatory_ and holy shit that’s hot. Not that there’s any chance Tom knows _why_ Sam freaked but his reaction is hot anyway. Tom sucks a possessive mark on Sam's neck and whispers hoarsely "What’s the devil going to say when I steal you away from him?"

_Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!_ The very idea that Tom (unknowingly) wants to steal him and give him what Lucifer has denied him―has in fact denied him permission to even acknowledge in thought―ignites Sam’s defiant streak like a torch thrown into a barn filled with gasoline soaked hay. Lucifer’s silent chastising any time Sam has shown an ounce of arousal at his touch has made it _very fucking clear_ that such thoughts were wrong and would not be tolerated. Of course that made Sam deny having any such feelings towards Lucifer at all, even to himself. The times his traitorous brain had decided to indulge imagery of that kind while he slept he’d woken up feeling very, _very_ , ashamed of himself and guilty towards Lucifer. Tom stealing this part of him, well… Fuck Lucifer. If he doesn’t want it, Sam can give it to someone else and deny Lucifer right back. And that is a turn on, an aggressive kind of turn on fueled by rebellion. **He** owns himself. **He** gets to choose who he gives himself to!

He kisses Tom fiercely while urgently manoeuvring awkwardly in the tight space to get his pants off while Tom's hands roam up and down his body greedily, seemingly fueled by the same fire as him. 

Tom folds the back of his seat back as far as it will go to give them more space. Sam _finally_ manages to get his pants off so they're hanging off from one leg. Tom then carefully removes the plug from Sam’s resisting hole while Sam pants into his shoulder, canting his hips to make it easier and rubbing Tom's cockhead between them. The plug comes free and Sam whines in protest at the loss. "Fill me up, Tom. Make me yours. I want you inside of me," he begs breathily. 

Tom stares in wide eyed wonder at the plug in his hand. His already flushed cheeks turns yet another shade darker. Sam’s not waiting for him to catch up. He feels empty inside now that the plug is removed and that needs to be amended _right fucking now_. He rolls the condom over Tom’s cock and lubes him up and before Tom seems to figure out what is happening. _Screw waiting for explicit consent,_ he thinks as he lowers himself down onto Tom’s cock, his already stretched hole relaxing to accommodate the welcome intrusion. Tom drops the plug and grabs a tight hold of Sam’s hips to stop him from going further. “ _Shit, Shit, Shit!_ Take it easy, kid. You’re going to hurt yourself," he protests, breath coming in short harsh puffs as he looks up on Sam with a strained expression.

_No! Fuck that! I want this now! All of it!_

Tom is _strong._ He holds Sam still even though he tries to push himself down further. Sam hisses in frustration, baring his teeth, and sits up as far as the car roof will allow him to. “I can take it,” he says very determinedly. When Tom doesn’t let go he crosses his arms and punches down and out inside Tom’s arms. A self-defensive move taught by his father back in the days. Dean might have gotten most of his training but Sam had learned the basics too. Dislodging unwanted grips was something that had come in handy many times during the years he was bullied. It does the trick now too and Sam finally sinks down the rest of the way until he’s got Tom’s cock fully sheathed inside of him. He hears Tom’s hastily drawn breath as he folds down and buries his head in the crook of Tom’s neck to hide his face. Both of them are unable to breathe for a moment, but for Sam it’s the pain and he doesn’t want Tom to see it. It’s not the burn (he’s too well prepped for that), it’s how far in Tom reaches. It’s like a sudden pang of stomach cramps. He only needs a moment though to sort and filter discomfort from pleasure. He sends a stray misguided thought of thanks to Michael for his arduous training to withstand and ignore pain. (Really, regular torture should _not_ be aiding his sexlife. But it is. And he certainly _shouldn’t_ be thankful for it. But, lo and behold, he is.)

Tom’s arms wind around him inside of his shirt. He presses Sam closer, breathing in his scent and caresses his back. He kisses every patch of skin available to him, neck, cheek, forehead. Tongue darting out ever so often to taste. It’s bliss. “You’re so beautiful, kid. I can’t stop thinking about you. I never want to let you go. _Ever._ You feel _so_ good. I’m so gone for you. You’re like nobody I’ve ever met, I want to...” Tom murmurs a steady string of adorations into his skin like they are gospel and Sam feels them. Not just as warmth and vibrations against his skin, but like he really _feels_ them sink into him. Like they are the only real truth there is. Like he’s worthy of them. He _believes_. Perhaps they are just temporary now while they are melded together. Perhaps it’s how Tom actually feels about him all the time. Later he’ll doubt that, but now they are capital letter Facts. It makes Sam’s heart swell painfully in his chest and his throat ache because he’s got truths to mirror Tom’s threatening to spill over his lips. The intense swirl of emotions pushes him closer to the edge and he hasn’t even started moving yet. Later he will ponder if he feels so strongly about Tom because the sex is so good, or if the sex is so good because he feels so strongly about Tom. But not now. Now he’s incapable of philosophical reflections.

Sam supports himself with a firm grip on the headrest of the seat and starts moving. He picks up speed and leans up to kiss Tom between harsh panted breaths and sounds of pleasure. Tom grabs his ass and starts thrusting too. It feels so good and he’s hardly aware of how crammed their position is, even if there are places where the car pinches and digs into Sam’s skin. It will probably leave bruises in places later. (Worth it.) Both of them are working up a sweat, Sam’s hair plasters itself to his forehead and curls in the neck. It trickles down his spine and chest as their pace is getting much faster, harder. There is a tightening feeling at the base of his spine that tells him he is close.

Tom adjusts their position slightly and Sam cries out and throws his head back as his prostate suddenly gets intense stimulation. He keens Tom’s name, his rhythm faltering, which encourages Tom to grip his hips tighter and keep hitting that spot until Sam’s breath catches, the world falls away, and he shoots his load in thick stripes over Tom’s leather jacket. His jaw goes slack, his eyes fall shut, and he shudders and twitches with every wave of his orgasm. He’s hardly lucid enough to catch that Tom follows him over.

Sam holds himself up on trembling arms to keep from laying down in the mess he’s made on Tom’s jacket. He’s watching wide eyed in awe as Tom come back from his orgasm―overwhelmed by all these friggin intense feelings he’s having about the older man. He almost feel like crying. (Oh yeah, that’d be a hoot. Just imagine Dean finding out. ‘Sam Winchester cries during sex’ would be his new favourite tease.) He can’t deal. Right now he can’t deal. Maybe so many ‘I love yous’ are said post-coital, _not_ because the bliss that follows, but because all walls have crumbled and you’re totally vulnerable and mentally exposed until you manage to put your shields up again to protect yourself. _Can_ you fall in love this fast? And how do you know if it’s just infatuation or not? He doesn’t know. He just knows that right now his heart is too big for his chest and Tom is the singularly most stunning person he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

Tom blinks drowsily and smiles up at him. He reaches out, grabs a piece of tissue and quickly dries himself off, throwing the paper on the floor. Sam falls down on his chest as soon as he’s done that. Tom holds him tenderly, protectively, and strokes his sweat matted hair, keeping him tucked in under his chin. Sam feels so friggin safe and―it’s so stupid―but also _loved_. “You’re so beautiful, kid. You deserve so much better than this. I want to take my time with you like you’re worth.” He buries his nose in Sam’s hair. “I haven’t been able to take my mind off you, kid. You’ve haunted my dreams, both the sleeping and the wakeful ones.” Sam smiles against his skin. Delight bubbling and itching under his skin. He crawl up a bit to rest his nose against the pulse on Tom’s throat, feeling it’s rapid beat against the tip of his nose. He feels giddy and ready to burst with happiness. Tom caresses his jawline and up, a finger tracing the dimple. “You have no idea how much you affect me, kid. But you really shouldn’t be here with me. I’m not good for you.”

Sam’s smile fades. He hates that. People telling him what’s good for him, what he should or shouldn’t do. Right now though, he is more afraid what Tom is really saying is ‘ _But **I** really shouldn’t be here with **you**. **You’re** not good for **me**_.’ He swallows thickly. “I’ve missed you,” he confesses quietly.

Tom chuckles and lifts the plug from where it has lain forgotten on the passenger seat. “Yes I can tell,” he says with dry amused. “You’re one cheeky little bugger, you know that?”

Sam’s grins widely, reassured by the warm humour. “I… umm..” Sam blushes. “I bought it on the off-chance that’d you’d call,” he admits.

Tom groans and hugs Sam closer, his softening dick gives a valiant twitch where it’s still inside of Sam. “Shit.”

Sam sniggers darkly at Tom’s reaction to the admission. _Yeah, you liked that, didn’t you._ He can’t help feeling smug.

”I don’t deserve you,” Tom says.

”Yeah well, I deserve you,” Sam states matter of factly rather than arguing that his affections wasn’t some kind of prize you’d have to earn in some kind of competitive manner. “You’re the only one I’ve let do this to me,” he tells Tom instead.

”What? Top?”

”Yeah…”

Tom falls silent and it drags. His silence makes Sam lever himself up to watch his face. Tom grins broadly and bites his thumbnail and blushes. There’s a twinkle in his eyes. Something between humour and uncertainty. “You…” he says at last, “You wanna top?” 

”No.” Sam’s answer comes without hesitation. He doesn’t. He can top any time, but there’s only two people he can think of that he’d let fuck _him_. One of which still has his half-hard dick inside of him and one who isn’t interested to begin with.

Tom’s grin spreads wider and Sam gets the feeling something is wrong. He’s unlocked enough knowledge of Tom’s body language by now to know that this big grin combined with biting his thumbnail and talking through his teeth means either that he’s embarrassed, nervous or smiling through pain. “You sure about that, kid?” he persists.

Something is off. It just is. Tom’s nervous, he’s sure of it now. Sam looks down on him, gaze shifting from eye to eye. He almost seems to want to shy away from Sam’s intense scrutiny. Definitely off. Sam leans forward and says “ _Yes_ ,” with great emphasis, feeling slightly upset. He’s not sure why. But Tom seems relieved that Sam doesn’t want to top for some reason and it makes Sam think of the rape Tom was subjected to in Sam’s age. So if he didn’t want Sam to top, why ask? Tom cups Sam’s cheek and drags him down for a slow heartfelt kiss, full of unspoken words and emotions. Sam breaks it after a while. “I want to sleep with you tonight,” he says against Tom’s lips.

”That may be hard. I’m sharing hotel room with a teammate tonight.”

Sam swallows thickly. He really wants to _sleep_ with Tom. To feel that safe and warm and wake up with somebody’s arms around him. Not just anybody. Tom. He wants Tom to want it too. After a beat he adds, “ _Please_?”

“I’ll make it happen, kid.”

Such a simple phrase and Sam is flooded with relief. This isn’t over. Everything is good, and for a moment in time, nothing hurts.

* * *


	4. Crossing a Line in the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 2010. Sam is 17 and Brady 19. Over the course of the years their games have gotten more and more elaborate. Today a girl will find herself a part of those games, although she'll never actually find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a two part story, but woven together too tightly to be separated in different chapters.
> 
> Also, I didn't mean for Sammy SexEd to be a plot filled story, just a collection of porn with Sam, using sex very much as a coping mechanism. However, this chapter is super plot heavy because I suck at writing without plot. So, having read VC is a plus, and this ties in with what happens in The Croatoan chapter 14 & 18.
> 
> The tags for this chapter is as follows:  
>  **Part One:** M/F, Sam/OFC, Hidden Cam, cunnilingus, straight sex,girl getting excessively wet, safe sex, consent issues in relation to the hidden cam (the "hidden" says it all)  
>  **Part Two:** M/M, Sam/Brady, Voyeur, orgasm denial, degrading language, slurs, S &M, barebacking, Top!Sam, bottom!Brady,

### 2010

”Shit. That was my mother. I need to nip out to run an errand. Don’t leave, ’I’ll be back in half an hour, an hour tops,” Brady says and puts his phone down.

Sam and Natalie look up from their school books at Brady. They’re sitting side by side in the living room couch. “Alright, we’ll just wait here then,” Sam says. He feels the stir of anticipation in his gut as he shares a hidden look with Brady.

“Is that okay? You don’t want us to leave?” Natalie asks, looking worried.

“No, no,” Brady reassures. “Please stay. As long as Sam’s here I don’t mind. We’re like this.” He holds up two fingers crossed together tightly and fires off one of his most winning smiles before hurrying out. Sam takes up his phone and taps out “You can’t come or the deal is off!” and sends the text to Brady. He’s never done _that_ before. He wonders if Brady will adhere. His heart is speeding up a notch now Brady has gone. He’s been hardcore flirting with Natalie all day, and in passing at school for the last week in preparation for this.

He puts his phone in his pocket and leans in close―so his and Natalie’s sides are pressed close, one arm behind her on the couch―under the pretense of looking at her notes. Out of the corner of his eye he can see her smile, and then she leans a bit closer to him, displaying every sign of being hyper aware of Sam’s proximity. They hear the door slam and Sam turns his head towards Natalie. He keeps it tilted so he’s looking up at her from under his bangs through his lashes. He knows this game now, he’s been doing it for a while. Not this exact thing. This is new, what he and Brady is doing. They’ve only done it a couple of times. That’s the thrilling part. But getting girls to sleep with him is just another skill he’s acquired. Frankly, he’s always a bit surprised when it works. How people just complies when he does what Lucifer told him. ‘Upping the Alpha’ and take by demand, like he had the right. He’s under no illusion that he could have anyone, but he’s grown good at pinpointing the girls that want him. If this had been a party with alcohol involved he wouldn’t have to do anything, just stand around, meet the eyes of girls and smile, and they would come to him. This setting is different. He has to be the aggressor. He curves the corner of his lip into a playful smile that Natalie returns. “You know…” he says, looking at her lips and back up again. “...I’ve been wanting to kiss you.”

Natalie’s eyes flick to his lips and she licks her lips before looking him in the eyes again. He can practically hear her pulse elevate. Her reaction to his statement tells him he has a green light. “Oh yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah…” His smile widens as he begins leaning in, closing the distance between their faces. He does so slowly, in case she pulls back and he has to work more for her to comply. But she licks her lips again and her eyes locks on his lips. Days of flirting in preparation for this pays off. Their lips meet in a soft chaste kiss. It doesn’t stay that way for long. A little probe with the tip of his tongue and her lips part to let him in. He kisses her like Tom taught him―slow, syrupy, and explorative. Her hand comes up to his hair and he leans closer, pushing her down on the couch with him on top of her, hands exploring her body while they kiss. He feels the first stir of arousal in his groin. Her hands find their way under his shirt, feeling his lean toned body out with just as much enthusiasm as him. It doesn’t take long until they’re both breathing more raggedly, and kissing is more frantic and demanding, less indulgent.

But they’re on a schedule here. She doesn’t know it, doesn’t know she’s only the starter―an aperitif―to get what he’s really after. What has him buzzing with anticipation. She’s an extra, a stand in, in a plot playing out according to plan this far. Later he’ll feel guilty about it. Most often he does. He’ll lie in his room and wonder what the fuck he’s doing. How unfair it is to the girls he sleeps with, offering nothing more than his body once or twice. He’s never mean or condescending towards them, how could he be? They’re beautiful, sweet, and feel so friggin’ good. If Dean knew what a huge fuckboy Sam really is, he’d slap his back and say ‘ _That’s mah boy!_ ’ proud as a peacock. Dean doesn’t know. He thinks Sam’s just a big nerd with his nose buried in books all the time when he’s not at practise, and that he only occasionally gets lucky. Sam does his best to keep it that way. To keep who he is at school and who he is with Dean separate. He doesn’t want Dean to see the person he is right now. A calculating person who uses others for his own pleasure and gets high from the powertrip.

When he hears a faint telltale click from the back of the house (he’s been listening for it) he grabs Natalie by her ass and heaves himself up, bringing her with him, she instantly locks her legs around him and laughs. “Sam! What are you doing?”

“If Brade gets back early this is the first room he’s going to come into,” he smirks and kisses her. “I’m taking us somewhere more private.” He carries her up the stairs. She holds her own weight up well, giggling all the time. As a rule, chicks dig being carried and being lifted. Sam does too. Just because of that he’ll often carry girls. Tom’s the only one who’s done that to him in a way that is connected to sex, and not silly childsplay. But he’s not thinking of Tom right now, he’s thinking of Brady. He pushes Natalie up against the wall and grinds against her, kissing her until they’re both breathless, then reaches out and opens a door, carrying her into the room.

“Oh my god, Sam. This is his parents bedroom! We can’t go in here,” Natalie protests, but her eyes are sparkling with the delight of the forbidden.

He just chuckles and reaches with his hand outside the back of her shirt to pinch at her bra, _pinch and rub_ , and the bra comes open with a smooth move that makes her laugh. It’s a party trick Ruby let him practise on her until he could open a bra with one swift move, in his sleep. Another skill in a list of many, ranging from assembling a gun quickly to reciting the periodic table in one breath. He looks to the mirror that takes up a whole wall, through the mirror image finding the unassuming laptop in sleep mode on the dressing table across from the bed, aligns them in a good angle from it and falls down onto the bed with Natalie, both laughing.

From there he doesn’t waste time getting them undressed, kissing her and touching her everywhere except where they both want his attention to go. Another lesson learned from Ruby. Fumbling hands on a pussy can be a turn off. _She_ hated that guys seemed to think the pussy and tits were the only erogenous zones on her body. She’d complain loudly over how guys spent a couple of minutes playing with her tits then clumsily trying to finger her pussy and forgetting the rest of her existed, thinking they were masterful lovers. So he doesn’t. Oh he _does_ spend a lot of time sucking, nipping, teasing her nipples with his tongue. But that is because he friggin loves it. He loves titties. Big, small, doesn’t matter. Some girls barely had any chest at all, but still would shiver and shake at the slightest tease of their nipples. Fat girls were lovely too for how you could bury your head between their tits and friggin drown in it. Yeah, when it came to getting off, Sam loved them all. It was when it came to guys that he was picky. Tom. Brady. He wouldn’t say no to Chris Evans if that chance ever came. Or a young Brad Pitt. Or, in another life where it was a possibility and not forbidden―he’d be gagging to have Lucifer have his way with him. That would never happen and he shouldn’t think of it. He was lucky really, that the two times he was attracted to a guy, the attraction was reciprocated.

He made sure his jeans with the condoms and his phone are on the bed beside him. Now he’s so friggin turned on he wants nothing more than to sink into that wet heat between Natalie’s legs. But first thing first. Finally he makes his way down to her pussy. She has only shaved her bikini line, nothing else. He doesn’t mind the hair. A hairy pussy holds a charm of its own, locking in the wetness like a nice surprise, while a shaved pussy will be leaking and slip sliding. He grabs Natalie by the hips and tugs her down a notch, splaying her legs while he gets in a comfortable position. He inhales deeply. “Shit, you smell good,” he says, more to himself than for her benefit, before he dips down to lick. She tastes wonderful too, producing enough slick to have it coat his chin amply as he works. Rolling his tongue over the sheath covering her clitoris, sucking lightly on the little nub, burying his tongue deeply in her pussy. All the while paying attention to her reactions to find out what works for her, as every girl is different. In the end he finds that for her it’s a combo of a good old fashioned tongue fucking and then teasing her clit straight on with the tip of his tongue. It has his jaw aching and his tongue almost cramping but it’s worth it when she starts squirming and moaning, twisting her hands in his hair and pushing his face in deeper. She’s showing every sign of getting close to orgasm. He wants to really feel it so he sticks a finger in. Natalie is talking. “Oh my god, ohmygod! _Sam_! Ohmygod. They said you were good, but… _Oh my―_ ” She cuts off with a wordless cry, back arching off the bed and the muscles in her pussy spasming around his finger, leaking― _almost_ ―spurting out a considerable amount of pussy juice.

“ _Shit, shit, shit_ ,” Sam chants to himself in excitement and reaches for a condom. He’s never seen a girl get that wet from coming and he wonders if she could actually squirt like you see in movies sometimes. He’d thought that was a myth, faked in pornos. He knows he has to have her again. Maybe a couple of times, because that’s friggin awesome and he wants to take his time exploring that, when he isn’t under time pressure. He rips the condom package and rolls the condom over himself with one hand, then quickly, before she has collected herself he heaves himself up over her and pushes in. He’s too gone with lust after seeing her almost squirt to wait and see if she will let him. He’s not that level of gentleman, not when they’re both sober and she has proved willing all the way this far. There’s so much slick there’s barely any friction. Not as tight as it could have been had she not been as wet as she is, but that’s okay. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck, you feel so good.”

He starts grinding against her instantly, desperately, the way you do when lust has taken over and shot anything except base urges out of the sky, and all you do is seek your own fulfillment. His nostrils are still cloyed with her scent, his chin sticky with it. Natalie has barely come down but him grinding against her over-sensitive clitoris in pursuit of his own happiness triggers another orgasm for her. Her pussy clenches around him and she cries out, burying her fingers in his back, gripping without digging her nails in. More juice flows out of her pussy, running down his thighs and wets his balls.

If it wasn’t for the condom he would have come. As it is right now, there’s not enough friction and the condom reduces his sensitivity just to the point where he feels he’s going mad with it. It’s just out of fucking reach and he’s so horny he feels like he could explode if just…

He tugs her up in his lap, hugs her close and leans back for leverage. A small part of his mind is still coherent enough for him to shift to a better angle in relation to the laptop but then he’s speeding up, full thrust. She’s making a keening sound, holding on to him, tugging his hair and kissing his neck. He’s so goddam close! But not getting there and they’re running out of time. He vows he’ll never wear a condom ever again. (He will of course.) He kisses her, bites loosely at her shoulder, sucks on her lower lip, then falls back onto the mattress with her over him so she can ride him, which she does, grinding in a circling motion. He’s not a talkative lover. Not with girls at least, just all ragged breaths and desperate sounds. (He’s thought about that a lot. Because with Brady and Tom he is much more vocal, much more talkative, and he wonders why that is. The attraction he finds towards guys and girls are different. But why is he different in bed?)

He’s all grabby hands and questing mouth. He wants to dig his teeth in, suck marks, but he doesn’t. He realises he’ll never make it like this. Not with time pressing down on him. Again, he sits up with her in his lap, bends her head in towards his chest so she can’t see the mirror. She’s got her eyes closed, but you never know. He looks at the laptop and mouths the word “call” before bending his head to kiss her. His phone rings.

“Fuck!” He stills his movement, makes a grab for the phone in his jeans and hits the speaker. “It’s Sam. You’re on speaker,” he says, hearing how fucked out he sounds.

“Hey, it’s Brady. I’m on my way home. Is Natalie with you?”

Natalie looks a bit dazed in his lap, his cock still inside of her. “Y…” she clears her throat, “..yeah.” Her voice sounds just as raw and fucked out as Sam’s.

“I’m really sorry, Natalie. But I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. My parents are coming home early and they have guests. I don’t want to throw you out but my parents…” he leaves the sentence hanging. 

“Yeah. Okay. It’s cool,” she answers.

“Sam could you stick around? Dad’s boss is coming and he’s a Free Will fan. He found out my best friend is Dean Winchester’s little brother―”

Sam cuts him off. “I get it. I’ll stay.”

“Once again, I’m really sorry, Natalie. I’ll make it up to you somehow,” Brady says, sounding remorseful.

Natalie does smile at that. “It’s cool. I get it. My parents can be annoying at times too.”

“Alright. We’ll be home in ten minutes. See you then, Sam.”

Sam hangs up without saying goodbye. He kisses Natalie. “Sorry about this. This feels wrong. How bout a raincheck? My place? Tomorrow?”

She seems surprised as she climbs off him. “I thought you didn’t… I mean, they say you… Yeah, sure.”

She puts on her clothes and he pulls his pants on without removing the condom, not bothering with a shirt. “They say what about me?” he asks and hands her shirt over. He’s still horny as fuck and his dick aches. That will be resolved soon enough though.

Natalie pulls her shirt on. She smiles, slightly embarrassed, blushing for the first time today. “They say a lot of things about you.”

Sam gets off the bed and sweeps her into an embrace, then cups her cheeks and gives her a lopsided smile, planting a kiss on her forehead. “What do they say?” He lifts her up, hitching her around his waist and heads for the door. She giggles. “They say you’re a player. They say you never brag about your conquests. The same can’t be said for the girls you’ve slept with. And they say you’re really good in bed. They’re right, by the way.” 

He grins, kisses her again, then places a hand on the bannister not to fall when he carries her downstairs. It’s really weird hearing this. Of course people talk. They do. But he hasn’t really thought about what they’re saying. He should have, as he quite often relies on his reputation while interacting with people at school and at parties. “None of that explains your reaction when I asked you to come over tomorrow.”

“They also say you never bring girls home,” Natalie says with a little smile playing on her lips. “And rarely sleep with the same girl twice.”

“Ouch. Well that second part isn’t true,” Sam makes a face. He does sleep with the same girl more than once, he just doesn’t date. He’s not up for the whole boyfriend schtick. “So why the hell did you let me…” he lets the sentence hang, feeling stupid for asking, as he sets Natalie down in the living room so she can collect her books.

She giggles again. “Because they say you’re sweet, and never makes a girl feel cheap. _And_ you’re one of the hottest guys in school.” She grins at him, and he feels his cheeks heating up stupidly.

“Shit. Girls talk that much?”

“Mhm,” she answers cheekily and hangs her bag over her shoulder, now containing her books. Then she frowns curiously. “But you don’t bring girls home? Why am I different?”

He smirks and pull her in close by the hips. “You get so friggin _wet_.”

Her face falls and she looks down, uncomfortable. “Yeah. I know. It’s embarrassing…”

“Embarrassing? Shit. Look. Natalie. That’s so friggin’ hot that I was close to coming by just licking you when you came.” She looks up at him, surprised. He smiles reassuringly. “So get this. You smell and taste friggin awesome. I want my sheets friggin soaked in it, okay? I want your scent to linger on my skin.” She lets out a startled little laugh and covers her mouth in surprise muttering a silent ‘ _Oh my god_ ’, her eyes practically shining with embarrassed delight. He goes on while he backs her towards the foyer, still with his hands on her hips. “Not like now when I’ve gotta erase every trace of us doing anything before Brade and his parents get home. I don’t bring girls over to my place very often because my brother’s a dick. He may actually walk in on us and act like a friggin cheerleader. If not he’ll find another way to embarrass me.” She laughs again and he shrugs. It’s not the whole truth even if it isn’t a lie. It’s also the sleepover issue. If a girl is in his bed she might want to stay there, and he can’t allow that because of his night terrors and nightmares. “Now hurry so I can clean up before they get here. I’ll call you.” He kisses her and opens the door for her.

As soon as she’s gone he closes the door and locks it, steps out of his pants again and removes the condom from his half-hard dick, still aching from being denied an orgasm. He drops the condom on the floor to be cleaned up later. Brady’s parents won’t be home for days. They’re not even in the country right now. This is what he’s been waiting for. Anticipation coursing strongly through his veins, speeding up his pulse. He hurries back up the stairs but this time aims further down the corridor, to Brady’s room.

He opens the door to find Brady sitting in his desk chair, watching his computer monitor, where the movie clip they recorded with the laptop’s webcam is replaying. Sam’s eyes flick to the screen where he sees himself from behind while he licks Natalie, her body twisting under his ministrations. Brady is still fully clothed apart from his pants being pulled down and he’s stroking himself. Sam’s dick starts filling with blood again. “Did you come?” he asks when Brady looks up at him, cheeks flushed and lips parted, showing that he’s been jerking off since Sam took Natalie to the bedroom.

“No. What the fuck’s that about? You can’t just―”

“Shut up and take your clothes off,” Sam demands. Brady glares at him, more frustrated than angry. _Good. That makes two of us._ But he complies, getting to his feet and removing his shirt in a swift motion. He is gorgeous. He had a pretty mature body already when they met a couple of years ago, but he turned 19 this year and has a man’s body. Athletic in every fibre, from the broad shoulders, sculpted chest and abs, slim waist, and down to his strong runner’s legs. Sam can’t wait to get his hands on him. A thrill runs through him when Brady obediently chucks his pants and stands there naked before him, looking slightly defiant but also waiting for orders.

Weeks can pass, in rare cases months, without Sam and Brady indulging in any ‘benefits’ to their friendship. But there’s also times when they’re going at it like rabbits. Sam’s the one in control of it all. And Lucifer had been right that day on the bleachers when Brady first came up to talk to Sam. Brady liked when Sam ‘upped the Alpha’, and he wanted Sam to do the fucking, not the other way around. But it was more than that. Brady wanted to be degraded. He never said it out loud, he didn’t have to. The worse Sam treated him, the more eager he was to please. This was isolated to sex. Sam might instigate it at any given moment―pulling Brady into a supply closet at school for an instance―but when sex wasn’t on the table their friendship was equal. They’d study together, talk about hopes and dreams, about problems and girls. They’d hang out, play wrestle, party together, play sports, and have each others’ backs.

If Sam’s life wasn’t as fucked up as it was, hanging in the balance between Michael and Lucifer paired with all the baggage from growing up in a severely broken home, he would have taken the step to tie the two parts or their relationship together. He wouldn’t hold back the sweet and loving parts of himself and he’d add love making in the mix. Make them official boyfriends. Risk Dean finding out, so he could walk hand in hand with Brady instead of just bumping shoulders. Maybe―but highly unlikely―Dean would accept that Sam was bisexual, and maybe he could have taken Brady home, introduce him. Lay on the couch watching movies and trade lazy kisses while Dean yammered away about this and that in the kitchen. Sam loves Brady as a friend, but he isn’t _in love_ with him. Except for moments like these. When Brady just lets him be a fucking asshole to him with no, well, barely any, fuss.

Sam leans against the doorframe, smirking, giving Brady a slow appreciative once over before walking over, grabbing him by the hair and hauling him close, kissing him hard and demandingly, none of that syrupy sweetness he’d given Natalie. Brady makes a little sound deep in his throat and grabs a hold of Sam’s hipbones, tugging him flush. He feels Brady’s lips curve into a smile in the kiss. “What?” he asks, voice coming out muffled by still being lip to lip.

“I can taste her on you. She tastes good.”

Sam leans back his head a little bit to talk. “Yeah she did. Can’t compete with this though,” he says and strokes a hand down to Brady’s ass and squeezes.

Brady’s lips twitch in amusement, then he frowns. “What happened to your back?”

For a short moment Sam is confused. He throws a look at the computer screen where he can see himself, still licking away. _Oh._ Michael and a whiplike cane happened to his back. It’s a testament of how used he is to these things nowadays that he doesn’t think about it. Lucifer had taken care of him afterwards once Michael was gone, rubbing some cooling ointment that lessened the pain onto the welts. Afterwards they’d lain on the grass, Sam on his stomach and Lucifer on his side, and talked while Lucifer trailed every painful red stripe on his back with his fingers. Sam had gotten an erection from it that he’d managed to hide. He knows Lucifer hadn’t noticed his arousal because he hadn’t stopped. He’d taken every goose pimple and shiver as another form of pleasure and Sam had done his best to pretend to himself that it was. That his boner was some kind of freak reaction to the gentleness in wake of the pain. 

That night though, he dreamt about it. About Lucifer’s trailing fingers going lower, between his ass cheeks, slipping into his hole. He dreamt Lucifer leaned in, alternating between kissing the welts and nipping hard at them, causing both relief and more pain as he slowly fucked Sam with his hand. He dreamt Lucifer―naked suddenly, it was a dream after all―rolled up on top of him and sunk his cock in, then proceeded to fuck him while holding him down, one hand on his back and one hand on his head. No words were spoken. Sam woke up sweaty and feverish, so close to climax it took two desperate strokes to find release. It was the single most disturbing sex dream he’d had and he tried to forget all about it.

“Hockey practise,” Sam answers.

“Bullshit! You don’t get marks like that from hockey.”

“Shut up. None of your business how I got them. What? You want me to give you a matching set?” Sam defensively challenges. The idea of actually giving Brady a matching set of whip marks takes hold in both of them at the same time. Sam can see it in Brady’s eyes that he considers it, that the idea might not be something Brady is averse to. Sam’s cock twitches in approval, dribbling precome. Sam considers the force Michael had used, the pain in each hit. He’s utterly horrified when his cock twitches again along with a little ball of thrills in his stomach at the image of doing the very same to Brady―to be _allowed_ to. Sam frowns. “Screw you. It’s not gonna happen. Get on your knees and lick me clean, you fucking slut.”

Brady drops to his knees without a moment's hesitation, causing another thrill. As Brady’s tongue goes to lave at his balls and lick along the shaft to get him clean of Natalie’s juices and the residues from the condom, Sam’s head falls back, eyes shut, and he makes a sound between a groan and a sigh. His hand goes to stroke Brady’s hair. “Shit, Brade. I love―” he cuts off, unsure of what he was about to say. This? You? Their wicked games, or the feel of Brady’s mouth? Brady’s only reply is a whimpering little sound as he takes Sam’s cock into his mouth. “Did you jerk off?” Sam asks, voice partly choked by the sensation of the hot mouth and swirling tongue that has his balls contracting and bringing him closer to the edge he was hovering by with Natalie. He looks down on Brady. He’s so friggin good looking Sam still has problems believing he wants Sam.

Brady looks up at him, eyes bright and blue, reluctantly removing his mouth from Sam’s cock but gripping his ass instead. “Yes.”

“All the time?”

“No. The fuck do you think? You told me not to come, asshole,” Brady says grinning and Sam grins back.

“Shut up and keep sucking,” Sam demands, still grinning.

Brady’s eyes twinkle as he does what he’s told. Sam’s head falls back and he buries his hands in Brady’s blond hair, squeezing. Brady moans around his dick and encourages him to fuck his mouth by gripping his ass and pulling him in so Sam gives into it, foul dirty talk spilling from his lips like it never does when he’s with a girl. He comes too fast, holding Brady’s head firm, making him choke on his come, forcing him to swallow rather than spit. Brady sputters when he pulls off. “ _Asshole_. Now can I come?”

“No. I want you to come with me inside of you,” he answers with a teasing smirk, feeling a bit jelly legged and dazed.

“But you just came. It’s gonna take longer,” Brady complains.

“That’s the point, moron. Now get on the bed on all fours like a good little bitch so I can prep you.”

Brady laughs. “Fuck, you’re bossy. I don’t know why I put up with this. I swear, Sam, you’ll drive me crazy one of these days.”

Sam pulls him up and kisses him, feeling Brady smile against his lips. “You can always say ‘no’,” Sam says muffled into the kiss.

“And miss out on this? _Never_. ‘Sides, who’d be your good little bitch if I did, huh?”

“I’m sure I could find someone,” Sam teases.

Brady―to Sam’s thrilled satisfaction―lets out a jealous growl and nips at Sam’s lip, then pushes away from him and gets on the bed, grabbing the lube from the nightstand and throwing it on the foot of the bed as he goes. He gets on all fours and bends down to rest on his forearms, ass shamelessly on prominent display.

Sam’s full of bullshit because he couldn’t replace Brady. It not about finding someone willing to submit to him this way―he’s sure he could do _that_ , somehow―it’s about how he feels about Brady. They’re best friends with benefits, sure. But it’s more than that when they have sex. They both let go of the roles they’re made to play in life, who they’re seen as and supposed to be. Lucifer had been right about Brady. He took to being dominated and humiliated like he needed it. Like being pushed under the surface, was his way of coming up for air. Oh he bitched and moaned while they were at it, but he was happier, more relaxed and focused for days afterwards. And his protests were only verbal―he obeyed with obvious enthusiasm and glee.

And Sam? Quite frankly, the further their games escalated (and escalated they had) the worse he felt about it afterwards. Because he revelled in it. Just thinking about it made him hot and bothered. The sheer power trip it gave him was so heady, and he did his best to deny it to himself later. He hates that there's a part of him that purrs in gleeful excitement when he’s mean and controlling. A part of him that makes him unable to keep his hands off Brade when he’s going steady with someone (getting anyone to cheat is a _major_ turn on) but barely acknowledged Brady’s desire for him when his friend was single, unless he himself needed it. A part of him that, when Brady was celebrated in school for a big win, would drag Brady into a toilet and push him roughly up a wall and keep him locked there by draping himself against his back and proceed to fingerfuck him while calling him a "worthless whore" or worse until Brady was a shivering mess and came, biting his hand not to scream and mumbling "yes" and "I know" over and over. A part of him that found ecstasy in as much in having the most respected, smartest, good looking guy in school submit and demean himself (in private) for Sam, as well as in the grateful, giddy, and adoring looks he would bestow on Sam afterwards.

And as easily the slurs tumbled out of Sam’s mouth when they played this game, they were all lies. Because in these moments what he felt for Brady was sheer unadulterated affection and admiration. Moments like right now he loved Brade something fierce in every conceivable way. It would fade back into the platonic spectrum again, beaten down by shame and guilt, and morose acceptance that having a steady boyfriend or girlfriend was not in the stars for him. Lucifer wouldn’t stand for it ( _”Don’t let anyone claim you”_ ) and Michael might see it as a form of rebellion and god knows what would happen then.

Brady turns his head and glares at him. “You just gonna stand there and gawk? Don’t leave me hanging like this, dammit.”

“Hey! I’m enjoying the view, alright? You know how friggin’ hot you are with your ass in the air like a friggin’ pornstar? Presenting yourself like a bitch in heat for me? If they ever make a bronze statue out of you this is how they should depict you,” Sam says and moves up on the bed behind him. He sees Brady close his eyes, blush, and turns his head into the pillow trying to hide the smile.

“Yeah well I’m getting bluer balls by the minute so just get going,” he grouses, muffled by the pillow.

Sam chuckles and gets on his knees on the bed behind Brady. He strokes Brady’s back and ass cheeks, heart fluttering excitedly. He’s so gorgeous. Slim and muscular with broad shoulders, the very epitome of a star athlete. And he is _so_ good. Sam admired his sense of justice and compassion. He never hesitated to stand up for what he believed in, always did his best, and cared for the people around him. If he ever ran for president Sam would vote for him in a heartbeat. He is the perfect son, the perfect friend, the perfect athlete, the perfect leader. Sam couldn’t understand _why_ on earth Brade would want to be treated like this. He certainly didn’t deserve it.

Sam bends to take the lube. He kisses Brady on the shoulder while he uncaps the lube and pours some on his fingers. Brady turns his head to the side, his eyes are closed and smiles. Sam’s heart contracts with gut punching affection. He circles Brady’s hole gently, pushing in a finger slowly not to hurt him. He keeps bestowing Brady with kisses on the shoulders, alternatingly nipping lightly or nuzzling the hair in the nape of his neck while pushing his finger in and out.

“You can add another finger,” Brady says.

“I know,” Sam answers with a teasing lilt, a smirk curling his lips against Brady’s skin. He doesn’t though.

“Oh my god. You’re such a fucking tease,” Brady whines and turns his head into the pillow when he realises Sam isn’t adding another finger.

Sam laughs and sits up. “I know,” he says and gives Brady a light slap on the ass. Then he adds another finger and starts scissoring. His cock is starting to fill again as he watches what he’s doing, anticipating the tight heat around his cock.

“Come _on_ , Sam. I haven’t got all day,” Brady complains. They do in fact, have all day. And all night should Sam dare to stay.

“Shut up,” he says and gives Brady another slap on the ass, harder now, making Brady suck in a breath in surprise then rock back and try to fuck himself on Sam’s fingers. “Be still,” he commands.

But for once―to Sam’s annoyance―Brady isn’t listening. “Stop teasing, Sam. Just fucking give it to me,” Brady complains.

Sam straightens up with a frown. “I _said_ , shut _up_!” With that he brings his hand down to slap Brady’s back. Only, he uses much more force than he intended to. The shock of the blow makes his hand sting and Brady to cry out in pain, jerking forward. For a beat there’s stunned silence, only Brady’s little sucked in breaths breaking it. The force of the blow leaves a white handprint surrounded by red on Brady’s back. Sam’s mind flashes memories of how that feels exactly, underlined by an after tremor in Brade’s body.

Brady slowly turns his head to look at him with big shocked eyes. Sam’s gut twists in guilty regret, and―horrified of his own action―he’s just about to launch into remorseful apologies when Brady forestalls him. “Please tell me, you’re not gonna make me beg for more?”

“...What?”

Brady closes his eyes, cheeks turning crimson. “Are you gonna make me beg you to do it again?”

Sam’s mind is reeling. He’s not sure he really understands what Brady is trying to say. “Brade. If you want me to do it again, you’ll have to specifically ask for it,” he assures him, voice slightly monotone from the shock.

“Oh, fuck! You _are_.” Brady turns his face into the pillow again, dark blush making his neck and ears burn bright. “Sam. Would you hit me again. _Please,_ ” he says, strained voice muffled by the pillow.

Which was _not_ what Sam had expected. His heart speeds up as Brady’s words start making sense. “You _want_ me to hit you again?”

“Yes. Please.”

_Holy shit jesus friggin’ hell!_

Sam stares at the offending mark on Brady’s back, dick twitching without his say-so. He reaches out to touch is gently, tracing it. The skin’s raised and tender. His own hand is still stinging. He leans down and blows on it and Brady gasps, goosepimples forming all over. He know that sensation too, just as well as he knows the pain. Lucifer has seen to that with his reverent touches. There’s an elated, awed feeling growing in his chest. The part of him that normally screams in horrored protest at willingly hurting someone is conspicuously silent, keeping its peace. He becomes aware that his fingers are still inside of Brady. He bends them and teases Brady’s prostate. Brady moans and fucks back on his fingers, so he adds another one. And then, he brings down his free hand forcefully on Brady’s back again. The sound of the impact echoes like a whipcrack in the room and Brady cries out again, but this time manages not to flinch away. Sam’s hand burn and smarts from the pain of hitting so hard. _Just like Michael’s must have done…_

Brady’s not a fighter. He is in spirit, and often pushes his body to the limit doing sports. But not like this. People respects him. So when he stands up to a bully, or challenges someone―they back down. He hasn’t gotten his ass kicked. Hasn’t been subjected to blunt force causing bones to break, skin to tear, or concussions. This is unfamiliar to him, this kind of pain. He hasn’t been almost killed by his own father, hasn’t fought bullies for years, hasn’t been subjected to outright _torture_.

So when a couple of tremors has passed through his body, his breaths comes as sobs, and he still turns his head to look at Sam with tear filled eyes, saying “Thank you,…. Again?” something in Sam’s heart just swells out of all proportions.

He bends down to kiss and blow gently on both handprints, all the while continuing to work Brady open. He hasn’t got words to describe how endless his admiration, love, and affection, is for Brady right now. And yet words spill easily from his lips. Only, they aren’t really his words. “What a perfect creature you are, sweetheart. So strong, you don’t even know it. I’m proud of you.” His or not, the words are true. He never believed those words himself when he heard them, but now a subconscious part of his brain starts thinking that maybe they were true, coming from Michael’s mouth. Maybe they always had been. Brady smiles, like all he ever wanted was for Sam to be proud of him. “Beg for me, sweetling,” Sam says.

“Please. Please, do it again. Please, be inside of me when you do it, Sam. Please.” There is no rebellion and pride, nor shame, in Brady’s words this time. The magnitude of the power thrill Sam gets out of it is new and exhilarating. 

“I want to see you. Don’t hide yourself from me. You think you can handle one on your front? Just one more. The last one. I know you can take it, sweetheart. You’re always so good for me.”

Brady twists around to lie on his abused back, whining a bit when Sam’s fingers slip out of him, looking at him with both apprehension and naked trust. 

Sam’s so hard it hurts. All his analytical thoughts are gone, nestled in the back while raw emotion is holding the reins. He sits between Brady’s thighs, strokes them soothingly. “You’ve never been as beautiful as you are right now, Brade. So hot, and so fucking perfect.” If he wasn’t almost in a trancelike state, heart trying to beat itself out of his ribcage out of pure exhilaration, then maybe he’d be freaking the fuck out by now, due to how word upon word spilling from his mouth echos with Michael’s voice in his head. Maybe if he stopped to think about it, but he doesn’t. Not when he’s so hard he aches from it, leaking precome in a steady stream onto the bed, dick twitching on its own behalf. Brady draws his knees up and plants his feet on the bed, legs still splayed wide to give Sam better access. Sam grabs the lube and quickly lubes himself up. With a firm grip on the base of his cock, he starts pressing in, his other hand caressing Brady’s stomach soothingly. He goes slowly, inch by agonizingly slow inch he sheathes himself in Brady, both panting hard from different kind of strain―Sam from restraining himself, Brady from trying to relax. He falls forward when he’s halfway in, bracing himself on his elbows on either side of Brady’s head. “ _Fuck_! You feel so good, Brade. I swear, no one feels as good as you do.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep pushing in,” Brady demands with a strained voice.

Sam lets out a strangled laugh. “Shut up, or I’ll pull out again,” he threatens grinning. It’s an empty threat. But apparently Brady believes him and bites his tongue around further protests. “Are you a whore like this for anyone else, Brade?” Sam asks and bends down to lick sweat off of Brady’s neck. “Are you as good for anyone else?”

“No. I’m _your_ whore, Sam. Only for you,” Brady says, grabbing Sam’s ass and pulling him in the last bit. Both gasps as Sam bottoms out. 

This is always such a hard part for Sam. Holding back to give Brade time to get used to the feeling and for the burn to fade. He could feel Brady’s pulse from the inside. So hot, and soft, and tight. So he talks to distract himself. At least now, the words are his own. He kisses and licks as he talks, revelling in Brady’s taste and smell. “Yeah? Nobody knows what a dirty little slut you are, but me? What a good, obedient little whore you are? All mine?”

“Yes. Yes. Only you. Yours.”

He thinks about the hit he’s about to dole out, anticipation in every fibre. “You still want me to hit you? Make a mark you can view as a badge in the mirror?” He grinds his hips, possibly prematurely, but he can’t hold back any longer. Brady rolls his hips to meet him, eyes falling shut.

“Yes. Please.” Brady’s words are barely more than breaths, his fingers digs into Sam’s ass cheeks as he tries to pull Sam impossibly closer, deeper.

“It’s going to hurt bad, Brade. Don’t hold back your scream. I want it. It belongs to me.” It’s an echo from Michael again, but Sam doesn’t even notice. “All your sounds are mine.”

“Yes.” Sam is not the only one getting off on this. Brady is hard and leaking between them. He’s panting harder, rocking back on Sam’s cock as best he can.

Sam sucks Brady’s earlobe into his mouth and suckles lightly, before letting go and whispering “And don’t hide your tears from me. They’re mine too.”

Brady makes a keening sound and arches his back. For a brief moment Sam reflects that they’re fucking insane both of them, because this messed up dirty talk are taking them closer to the edge with every word. The thought is gone as soon as it comes, chased away by anticipation and the tight heat surrounding his cock. Sam sits up, pulling Brady’s ass up on his thighs. He takes Brady’s cock in hand at the same time as his other hand strokes his chest and stomach, searching for the best place to hit. Subconsciously guided by another hand.

‘ _Don’t you see the artistry in it, Sam? This, this is a thing of beauty. And you’re the perfect canvas. So brilliantly shining and so very resilient. You don’t think I place my marks randomly, do you? That would be an insult to you. I would never do that to you, Sweetling. Sloppy jobs are for the rabble. Everything about you is perfect, I’m paying homage to that._ ’

He finds the place he wants the mark. Just below the solar plexus. It will not knock the wind out of Brady, he’ll be able to protect his intestines by clenching his muscles. He’d love to place the mark on his chest, but he also wants to see Brady come all over the handprint and he won’t be able to do that if Sam places it too high. “I’m going to hit you right here. It will burn like fire and sting like needles,” Sam explains, rubbing the area, voice oddly steady. Brady opens his eyes and looks at him, saying nothing. “I will hit _hard_. It’ll make every hair on the surrounding skin stand on end. The handprint I leave will be raised and remain white for a long while, surrounded by red, later the whole mark will turn red. There won’t be a bruise, but the mark will remain for hours, maybe much longer. It’ll be tender to the touch. It’ll be beautiful. I want you to tense up your stomach muscles before I hit. Forget about dignity. I want to see you naked. I’ll love you even more for it.” Sam kept jerking Brady off and rolling his hips while he talked. His tone had gone calm, steady, soothing, without inflections of pity or greed. 

He feels greedy though. So fucking turned on and hungry for what he was about to do. Brady’s eyes are glazed with a mix of arousal and fear. The hint of fear mixed with trust did things to him he didn’t ever want to acknowledge. “You ready?”

Brady nods, grips the sheets and tenses his stomach muscles. Sam pulls pack his hand over his head, measures the angle, and brings his hand down with as much force as he can muster, hand stinging so hard his fingers almost go numb with it. Brady cries out and jackknives, which was expected. What he hadn’t counted on was how his ass would clench around his cock, making him cry out too, but in pleasure. He catches Brady and holds him up against his chest, fucking into him by no volition of his own, muttering words of praise and filth into his ear. Brady clings to him, struggles to breathe, his cheek against Sam’s shoulder is wet, and Sam comes with a bitten off “ _Brade_!”

Surprisingly, Brady hadn’t gone soft in his hand from the pain. On the contrary, he’s rock hard, and Sam jerks him off faster, turning his head so he can put his lips against Brady’s ear. “Fuck, Brade. You’re fucking perfect. I love you so much right now,” he says and let them fall back towards the bed. It is carelessly spoken words, but it’s what pushes Brady over. Sam holds himself up on straight arms over Brady, watching in awe as Brade paints his stomach and the handprint with thick ropes of come. “ _Fuck!_ ” 

Thing is, Sam’s pretty sure Brady is in love with him, always has been. That’s why he so eagerly dances to Sam’s tune. That’s also why he’s never told Brady he loves him. He hasn’t even confessed he loves him on a friend’s level, but that should be obvious. Any time the word ‘love’ spilled from Sam’s tongue he’d bitten off the sentence before it was finished.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to say it. He can’t. It is dangerous and raises expectations. He’s said it to Tom. But Tom’s miles away. He’s Sam’s most private secret, that neither Brady, Dean, Lucifer, or Michael knows about. He’s safe. He doesn’t expect to be a boyfriend.

Now though, now Sam’s fucking enchanted. He looks into Brady’s dazed, tear glossed eyes and says it again. “I love you, Brade.” Recognising the idiocracy in doing so he bends down and kisses his friend to keep him from answering. Brady is grinning so broadly the kiss is almost awkward.

* * *

Afterwards Sam cleans Brady up, kisses him and trails gentle fingers over his skin. Brady just lies there with a content smile and his eyes closed. Now and then he touches the handprint. It takes almost fifteen full minutes before he speaks. “Fuck, that hurt,” he says, amused tint to his voice.

“You did good,” Sam muses, still too caught up in the afterglow to analyze what they’d done. “I’m going to miss you when you’re at college. Only seeing you during breaks will be a bitch.”

Something shifts in the room, the contentment bleeds out of Brady and he swallows. “We’re.. um. We’re moving. I’m not gonna come back here. My parents didn’t want to live so far away from me so they bought a house in Cali…”

It’s like a bucket of ice water is thrown into his face. “You’re …. you’re not coming back?”

Brady swallows again. “No. I had no say in the matter... I don’t want to leave you…”

Sam pulls Brady close against his chest, tangles their legs together, caresses his back tenderly (keeping in mind the marks he’s left) and combs through his hair with his fingers. He wants to say ‘come to me anyway’. Maybe Brady would. If they were boyfriends, he’s sure Brady would come. It’s on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to lose his closest friend. But Michael and Lucifer has him gagged and bound, preventing him from saying it. Brady will be safe, if he’s far away. “We just have to make the most of the time we have left then, don’t we?” he says instead.

* * *

The revelation that Brady is leaving for good overshadows everything else they did that day for about a week. But one night, after Sam wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember, he lies thinking about it. About how beautiful Brady had been with those handprints of pain on his back and front. About how arousing and exhilarating it had been to be allowed to give them. About how infinite his love had been for Brady in that very moment. About how he’d _wanted_ the scream, the tears, the tremors.

That Brady had asked for it, and wanted it too, has no bearing on the horror he feels about it. What if this is what Michael feels for him? What if all those sweet words and encouragements Michael gives are _real_? That would make him and Michael the same. Michael’s a monster. That makes him a monster too. 

_We’re the same! Oh, God! I’m a monster! We’re the same!_

The thought sends him in such a panic that he cries out for Dean without a thought. Dean comes running as usual, hugs him close and rocks him, thinking it’s just another nightmare, while Sam’s frenzied mind walls away the thought―so much worse than any nightmare―so far away he can barely remember what set him off. Over the course of upcoming months, this constructed blind spot in his mind would continuing to leak until if finally breaks completely, [April 27th, 2011.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3201401/chapters/7657988)


	5. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much has changed during the last year. On the surface, it's all to the better. But Sam isn't handling it all too well. With Brady, Luci, and Michael gone from Sam's life, there's nothing to distract him from his crush on Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of the torture Sam was subjected to by Michael when he was younger, but nothing that should be triggering. 
> 
> Sam is 18 years and 10 months old. 
> 
> It was meant to be mostly porn, but lo and behold! It turned into teenage drama and pining. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

### 2012

* * *

**March 3rd**

* * *

Usually, watching Hockey is thrilling and fun. Now though, now it’s torture. Benny, Dean, Jo, Victor, and Sam are crammed together in the Winchesters’ living room with beers and popcorn, watching a ChHL game. The others are fully into the game, and their shouts float over Sam’s head.

“Come on, you fuckhead! _Pass the goddamned puck!_ ”

“Yes! Go! Go! Go!”

“Woah! Did you guys see that feint? I so need to copy that!”

It’s hard to keep his face and body language straight. His mind isn’t set upon the game, but upon a single player. Sam flies to his feet, shouting “YEAH!” at the same time as the others go “ _No!_ ”

“Dude! Whatta fuck? You rooting for the Ice Bears?” Jo asks incredulously. 

“Hey! Leave Sammy be. His _idol_ just scored,” Dean counters. He says it sarcastically while giving Sam a dry look, taking the defense of him out of the statement. 

Sam gives him a withering bitch face and takes a swig of his beer. He sincerely hopes he isn’t blushing as he turns his attention towards the TV again. On the screen Tom is freeing himself from the celebratory group hug and skates close by a camera. He smirks and winks at the lens. Sam’s stomach swoops and his heart flutters. He’s afraid he’s making heart eyes at the screen. Hopefully the others will mistake it for fan adoration. 

“He’s an idol of yours, brother?” Benny asks interestedly. 

“Yeah, he is,” Dean answers for him. “Sammy’s had that fucker on his wall since he was sixteen.”

“Really?” Victor says. “That explains a lot about your playing style, Sam. You’ve taken a lot of influence from him. He’s been a good rolemodel for you.”

“ _Duude_!” Dean protests and throws popcorn at Victor. “Sammy doesn’t _need_ other rolemodels. He’s got me!”

“I’m sorry to say this, brother,” Benny says with a smirk and twinkle in his eyes. “But your ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ tactics doesn’t work as well for all of us out there on the ice.”

“Yeah! And Tom―“ Sam catches himself before he screws up. “―as Rainsborough is a killer on the ice! He plays smart. He’s not self centered enough to forget to pass when a someone's in a better position, he’s not afraid to get rowdy, he scores, _and_ he works real friggin’ hard! He’s been one of the cornerstones of the Ice Bears since he got there. And don’t forget that he's been on the national team.” 

_Oh no. I’m gushing. I’m gushing. I’m making a fool of myself. They’re gonna know!_

“And he’s _hot_!” Jo pipes in decisively, saving Sam from mortification.

“Jo! That’s not what hockey’s about!” Dean protests mock indignantly.

“Dude, it totally is,” Jo says smirking. “What else is the point watching a bunch of sweaty men lumber around on the ice for an hour?”

“We don’t _lumber_ ,” Dean and Victor protests as one. 

The loud, boisterous, good natured banter continues around him, but Sam’s zoned out again. On the screen the camera shoots Tom entering the booth and sitting down. He dabs his face with a towel, drinks, and looks out over the ice where the game is about to proceed. If Sam was alone he'd pause the image. Tom’s tired and sweaty, he’s got a reddish scruff going and his ice blue eyes are alert and sharp. Jo’s right. He’s so friggin hot! Sam had thought so from the moment he first laid eyes on the guy. But he's more than that. He’s kind and generous and caring and romantic and safe and… the list goes on forever. And that’s excluding how he is in bed. Sam doesn’t even count how Tom’s kisses fries every braincell and turns his body to jelly. Tom’s just…. Ugh.

It’s almost a year ago since they last saw each other in person. The memory still lingers. A few perfect days together, showing Sam what life _could_ have been like. Ten long months since Sam’s frantic plea of ‘ _Run away with me, Tom. Please. We can go anywhere. Change our names, they'll never find us. We'll get an apartment, I'll get a job. It'll be you and me for real._ ’. Ten long months since Tom, looking physically pained, answered ‘ _Noah’s only fourteen…_ ’

The curse of falling for an older, married man. A father, of all things. (One doing a hell of a better job than his own dad had, by the look of things.)

Of course Tom would choose the conscientious route, and not jump on the crazy-train with a wayward teenager. He wouldn’t abandon his family and his team, for an insane romance with someone half his age. Saying no was the sensible thing to do.

A lot of things had changed for Sam since he last saw Tom. Brady had moved before their last meeting, and since then Sam had graduated (Top of his class, of course. Dude. What would you expect?), and started playing hockey professionally in Team Free Will alongside Dean, Benny, Victor, and the rest of the guys. Not only that, Lucifer and Michael had had that blowout about Sam, that almost ended with both Lucifer and Sam dying. Lucifer had barely spoken to Sam since, and they’d never been alone together after that. Michael… He hadn’t seen Michael many times since. He’d been scared shitless the first period of time after the blowout, expecting to be shot at anytime. He’d constantly been on vigil, and he’d waited for the next pick up. It never came. The few times he’d seen Michael since, he’d been his usual charming persona. 

So life had shifted into the mundane. He was now the runt of the litter on the team―no longer the star he'd been in high school. It was both liberating and frustrating. But all too often, he felt _lonely_. Without Lucifer and Brady, and even, in a fucked up way―Michael, there was no one who knew _him_. Nobody knows what he's been through. There is a hole inside of him, that Dean can’t fill. Dean means more to him than anyone in the whole universe. Yet some parts of life needs to be filled with something _else_ than big brothers. He misses his life as it was in high school. All the action and excitement. The power and―though he loathe to admit it―the fear.

So life trudged on, the hockey season begun and, _bam._ Watching sports news happened, watching a pre game interview with Tom happened, and Sam was pining so hard every cell in his body hurt. Seeing Tom brought back Sam’s crush full force. There was no one to distract him from it. No Michael, no Lucifer, no Brady―everyone who’d played vital parts in keeping Sam’s feelings subdued were all but gone. Suddenly everything reminded him of Tom. His old schoolyard where Tom had picked him up, his own bed where they’d had kinky sex, the lake where they’d skated and slow-danced without music, his old letter man jacket, places they’d been, things they’d said, songs they listened to. And while travelling with Free Will they’d stayed at the hotel where Tom and he had first met. It was torture.

Tom and him were never going to happen. He _knows_ that. He just wants to steal one more moment. If he could just…

But he doesn’t want to ruin Tom’s life. Every time they met, he put Tom’s career and family life at risk. Yet…

Just one more time.

Tom knows Sam’s secrets. He’s confessed to Tom about the horrible things he’s been through. The last thing Tom said to him was ‘ _I love you, kid. I always will. Never hesitate to call when you need me._ ’ But that was after Sam almost attempted suicide. That’s not the nature of his need right now. He wants sex and romance. He wants to make love and fall asleep in Tom’s arms. Wants to talk for hours. Wants all that. He’s afraid Tom will finally have moved on and say ‘no’ if he asks to meet up again.

But maybe, _maybe_ he could reach out to Tom and get him to get in touch without actually asking?

* * *

The others went to the Roadhouse after the game and Sam blamed feeling tired not to be coaxed to come along. 

Sam has a plan.

That’s why he’s currently in the shower, standing in a very awkward bent over position with one leg on the edge of the bath tub, trying to shave his own ass. Tom was always well groomed. He’d be damned if he’d be any worse. 

_This is ridiculous._

_Why am I always doing stuff like this for him? It’s embarrassing._

_Get a grip, Winchester. It’s friggin_ hot, _that’s why. If he’d send you a video like that you’d be stealing Baby and drive cross country in a heartbeat. Besides, he_ likes _that you’re a sexual deviant._

_Right. Right. I’m doing this. But how am I going to post it?_

_Oh, god! I’m famous now! What if this gets out?_

“Famous” is stretching it a bit, but he’s a public figure. In Freeville he’s recognised on a daily basis, since the town is fanatical about their hockey team. But since he joined the team he’d been recognised by other devoted hockey fans. He might be paying the price for this ten years down the road.

_Slutshaming. Great._

_Fine. I can live with that. I_ am _a slut. Like, all of my peers from school can attest to that. If I just hide my face I can deny it’s me, should this video ever spread._

Sam chuckles to himself. It’s a miracle that Dean still believes Sam to be some kind of beginner when it comes to seduction. “You need to get laid, Sammy. C’mere. I’ll show you how it’s done,” Sam imitates with a mocking voice. 

_Dean is so clueless._

Sam didn’t sleep around as much anymore because he was a bit tired of it. If he felt like having sex, he did. End of story. 

_Dean,_ this _is how it’s done. I’m gonna hold out my palm and the guy I want is gonna come to me, begging for it,_ he thinks smugly.

Then he promptly gets hit by jitters, because what if he _doesn’t_?

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Sam’s standing butt naked in front on the full body mirror in the hallway, twisting and turning to inspect his work. He’d begun shaving his ass and balls, then thought it looked weird to save hair above his dick. So that had gone too. But keeping the happy trail leading to nowhere looked stupid. So that hair had gone too. And it’d gone on like that until he had shaved his whole body. Legs, chest, under his arms. _Everywhere_.

It felt both good and strange to be this smooth. It looked good too. He turns around and sticks his butt out to inspect it.

_Oh no! I’ve got a pimple on my ass cheek!_

_Yeah, because_ that’s _what he’s gonna be looking at. Calm the fuck down, you moron._

_Right. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine,_ he assures himself.

He makes a couple of enticing poses, watching himself. He thinks he looks like an idiot. There’s nothing sexy about him at all. But then again, when Brady did the same poses, Sam had found him incredibly sexy. 

_Eye of the beholder, I suppose._

He stops stalling and goes to his room. He’s not expecting Dean to be home for hours yet, (or at all) but who knows? Maybe he pulls a girl he really likes, and opts to take her home early? Better not let this take too long.

He rips the covers off his bed and throws them to the ground. He wants to remove anything that may clue people into his identity. Then he directs his desk lamp as a spotlight towards the bed. He sets up his laptop (wishing he had a higher quality webcam) to focus on the bed. He lies down to test the angle, gets up, adjusts the webcam, lies down again. He has to repeat the process a couple of times to make sure the camera doesn’t catch his face. At last, it’s perfect. The camera catches him from his thighs to just below his shoulders. Three days, he decides. He’ll post the video on a pornsite for three days, then delete it. He’s not really an exhibitionist. It’s more like, he doesn’t really care? He’s been bullied for being smart. For liking to read, study and learn things. So what if he'd get put down for having a body and liking pleasure? (That doesn’t mean he _wants_ people to talk shit about him. He just knows he can take it. The only person whose opinion really matters, is Dean. That’s why he’s hiding his bisexuality from his big brother.)

If he was planning to just send a small clip, he'd send it via MMS. But he’s going to put on a show, so posting it online is a necessity. Right now the idea of strangers jerking off to him―never knowing it’s him―is kind of a turn on. 

_Do girls masturbate to guys jerking off too? Or is that something only guys do? Gonna have to ask a couple of girls about that._

Briefly he considers doing a real show, using the plugs perhaps? He discards the idea. To do that he'd want to talk dirty, and look at the camera. Yeah, no. He'll go for something candid instead. _That_ would be saved for Tom’s eyes only.

He starts recording and lies down, closing his eyes and trailing his fingers along his torso. In his head he conjures the image of the time Tom was in here with him, sitting in his desk chair while he was lying here on the bed in nothing but his letterman jacket, jerking off and trying to entice Tom to come to bed with him. He pictures Tom watching him now, feeling his dick starting to get hard. He grabs his dick and gives it a couple of strokes, bringing it to full hardness.

Tom, if he was watching, would be hissing between his teeth, eyes hungry and fully focused like Sam was the only thing worth looking at in the world. He’d be massaging his own dick through the jeans. He’d say “ _You cheeky little imp. Are you trying to kill me?_ ” but he'd look thrilled at the prospect.

Sam has to stop himself from answering fantasy-Tom out loud. Instead he moans, trailing the hand not jerking his dick over his chest and stomach, along his hip bone down to his balls. 

He keeps his eyes closed, getting really into the fantasy. He no longer pays any mind to the camera, and if a stray thought remembers it, he only thinks about Tom watching. He’s had sex in front of a camera for Brady’s benefit, to be comfortable with it now that the initial jitters have passed. He tugs his ballsack and fondles his balls, thinking of Tom leaving his perch, coming over to the bed, putting his hands on either side of him and crawl over him. He thinks of Tom bending down, licking his balls, sucking them into his mouth, looking up at him while he jerks himself. Sam’s breath is ragged, the occasional grunt and moan escaping as he gets lost in his fantasy. He’s swept up in the scrapbook memories of past lovemaking, the sensation of his hands on his dick and body. He forgets all about the camera rolling. A stray thought now and then reminds him he has an audience he’s trying to entice, and when he remembers he folds his legs up to put his ass on display and play with his hole. But it doesn’t take long before he forgets again and gives himself over to pleasure.

He tries to draw it out, to make it last longer, but soon he starts feeling that tickling feeling at the base of his spine and he can’t hold back any longer. He speeds up his strokes and comes, shooting thick stripes all over his chest and stomach, his toes curling and body goes rigid. Afterwards he lies stroking and squeezing his softening dick, milking out the last come and twitching from the onsetting oversensitivity.

Sated, he remembers the camera again. He gets up to shut it off, then cleans himself, puts on sweatpants and a tee, and goes to sit by his computer to edit the video. He trims away the start of the video where you can see his face, and the last bits of the video, when he’d gone soft. He adds the text `Tom_2012` at the very end. People will probably think it’s his signature, but Tom will know better.

The video is about 11 minutes long after the trimming, and he watches it to make sure his face never is visible. It’s mortifying and cringe-worthy to look at himself masturbate. He didn’t know he made as much noise as he did.

_Tom likes my noises._

_Ho-lee shiiiit. I’m gonna do this!_

_I’m insane._

_This is stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He finds a random pornsite, creates a username that seems fitting for a porn account, that hasn’t got any connection to him (cum2me), and with a frantically beating heart, uploads the video.

`Congratulations! Your video was successfully uploaded and published!`

He stares at the popup declaring his video published for a beat. “Oh my god! I did it. Holy shit!” he says to the room and presses a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

His heart is hammering and his hands are shaky. 

He uploaded a porn video for the whole world to see!

“ _Holy shit_!”

He gets up and paces out of his room, down the corridor, into the living room, and back again. He digs his hands into his hair and squeezes. 

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_

_I've uploaded porn of me on the Internet!_

_I'm a pornstar! I'm a friggin pornstar!_

He paces another lap from his room to the living room, his insides a confusing mix of anxiety and thrilled excitement. He almost goes back and deletes it, but stops himself. He made his decision and he’s sticking by it.

_Shit. People are going to see it and think I'm a pathetic loser, desperate for attention._

Before he'd done it, he'd thought he didn't care what people would think, but thinking and doing are two different things. Now, it's real. Ten years from now the video might resurface. He'd be on the peak of his career, a lot of reporters were going to watch it for science, (Hah! Science. Yeah right.) then write horrible stuff about him. Fans would get angry and stop supporting the team unless he was kicked off. Dean would somehow find out he's bisexual and kick him out in disgust. (Because they'd still be living together if he had a say in the matter.) People he went to school with would remember what a slut he was, and tell the press about his relationship the current President Callaghan. (Brady would make an awesome president.) The association with him would get Brady kicked out of his presidency and his opposition would come to power, led by some hateful, selfish bastard like Donald Trump. (Thank God _that_ guy isn't into politics!) The country will descend into chaos and war, it'd be all his fault and everybody would hate him! 

**_CALM DOWN, WINCHESTER!!!_ **

_Holy shit! Drama much?_

Sam has to laugh at himself. From uploading a simple masturbation video to causing the third world war in fifteen seconds flat. If he has to make a bird out of a feather, he might as well make a pterodactyl. Like, nothing of that’s going to happen anyway. Chances are that nobody’s going to watch the video. He’s no one. Just some random dude jerking off. Who watches that anyway? In ten years the video will have, like, five or six views. And those that do watch won’t think he's a loser wanting attention. Nobody goes onto pornsites thinking ‘look at those pathetic losers’. When you watch porn you think ‘look at that nice dick, great ass’, or ‘I wish I could bury my face between those titties‘.

Sam shakes his hands in front of him, taking a couple of deep breath, calming himself down from the freak out. 

_Unless I send Tom the link NOBODY’S going to watch the damned video!_

He goes to the full body mirror and stands in front of it, looking at himself. He looks like he's always done. His hair is messy and his cheeks are a bit red perhaps, but there’s nothing that shows that he’s uploaded porn online. Not that there should be. But somehow he feels like something would be visible, as it's such a monumental thing.

_If life was a video game, this is where I'd have unlocked the pornstar achievement badge and get an XP boost._

_Congratulations me. I just levelled up. I'm now a level 19 slutty dweeb._

_Aren't people doing this supposed to have no self respect?_

He thinks about all the times Michael had made him cry and beg for mercy. Then he thinks of the times he’d shamelessly begged Tom _not_ to stop. From that point of view there was nothing to respect. 

On the other hand, he'd gotten respect anyways. Lucifer had never been condescending towards him after Michael’s treatment. Not even when electrical current had made him pee himself. He’d shrugged it off with ‘It happens’. Even Michael had faked respect in a fucked up way that'd been really convincing and all the worse because of it.

_“You’re doing really well, Sweetling.”_

_“Please, stooop! No more! I'll do anything, if you just_ stop _!”_

_“I know how you feel, Sweetling. I do. I really do. But you can take it. You’re much stronger than you think. Believe me. You're about to find out.”_

_Yeah right. How the hell would he know? There’s a friggin huge difference between being tortured and torturing someone. You don’t learn what pain feels like by putting others through it! I just wish he wasn't so damned believable. Nobody should be allowed to be that good at acting!_

Sam shoves the unpleasant memory aside. They tended to pop up randomly, triggered by the oddest unrelated things. 

Tom had never been anything but respectful, despite having seen him at his most wanton, unrestrained behaviour. 

If they could respect him under those circumstances, so could he. Dean would probably be impressed if he heard Sam made a porno. All he has to do is make sure Dean doesn’t find out what _kind_ of porno.

Sam guesses there's nothing wrong with his self respect. It’s just that some people liked to say when others didn’t fit _their_ views on virtue. 

That thought pisses Sam off and evaporates his doubt.

_Screw them! With all the shit people have put me through against my will, I'm not gonna be stopped from doing what I want to just because some people disapprove! If they can't respect me when I do things that doesn’t hurt anyone else, then I'm not interested in having their respect._

Sam feels a burst of defiance. It almost makes him want to make another movie right away, but this time with his face showing. _Nobody’s_ gonna tell him what he may or may not do.

Almost. 

He doesn’t really want to show his face. 

Either way, Tom’s not going to to see the movie unless he sends a link. 

He gets his phone and sits down by the laptop. He writes a text.

`Thinking of you…`

And adds the link to the video. He takes a deep breath and holds it, then presses send. 

He lets the air out in a big whoosh. It’s done. 

_I wonder how long it takes before he responds?_

_What if he doesn't respond?_

_What if he’s over me once and for all?_

_What if he gets mad?_

_What if…_

Sam gets lost in increasingly more panicky thoughts, his knee bouncing restlessly while he stares unseeingly at the laptop screen. A thought hits him.

_Maybe I can see if he’s seen it? The video has a view count. If he’s seen it, it would have gone up to one._

He reloads the page.

“Holy shit!”

His heart speeds up in excitement, because he's got fourteen views and one comment already. 

`Nice dick you got there. Wouldn’t mind getting pounded by that! ;)`

He giggles like the moron he is. He feels both flattered and wants to roll his eyes at the same time. He hadn’t expected anyone actually finding and watching the video, but the comment is in line with what one would expect.

He startles when his phone suddenly rings, vibrating in his hand. 

It’s Tom. 

His cheeks heat up in embarrassment and his heart flutters in dread and anticipation. He swipes the screen to answer.

“Hey…” he says, biting his lip and not daring to breathe while he waits for Tom to speak. 

“Kid, you're going to be the death of me,” Tom says. His voice is muffled like it is when he’s grinning, biting his nail, and speaking through his teeth.

“Yeah? You like it?” Sam asks with a goofy smile. 

“You _know_ I do, you conniving little imp,” Tom says darkly, making a shiver run down Sam's spine. 

“It wasn’t too much?” Sam asks, his nerves bleeding through. “I'm only going to keep it online for a couple of days.”

Tom chuckles warmly. “Too much for my poor heart perhaps. I miss you, kid. Not a day goes by without me thinking of you. This is just putting another nail in my coffin.”

“I miss you too. Like, crazy much. Can you come here?”

“Unfortunately I'm stuck in Calgary for five days straight. We've got two games here. One ChHL game and a friend game against a Finnish team.”

Disappointment forms a ball of ice in his stomach. “Okay…” he says dejectedly. 

“Sam. I _really_ want to see you, and I've got a suggestion. But there's something I need to tell you first.” Tom sounds hesitant, like he doesn’t really want to say what he has to say. 

Sam swallows thickly, worrying. Whenever people sound like that they bear bad news. “What?” he asks, steeling himself for the worst, whatever that might be. 

Tom takes a deep breath. “Sam, I've got a boyfriend now.”

It wasn’t even on Sam's list of bad things to worry about. “You’re in love with him?”

“Not… I'm infatuated. I like him. I don’t like having random hookups when I can have something steady. You know that.”

The disappointment makes it hard to swallow through the lump in his throat. He feels cold all over. “Okay…”

“So if you don't want to see me because of it, I understand.”

_Wait what?_

“Hold on. You think _I_ don't want to see _you_ because you have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know, Sam. You know my marriage is a sham. But you might not want to step inside of a relationship that isn't, knowing I'll cheat on somebody I have an active sexlife with. I don’t want to lie to you, kid. Out of all people, at least I get to speak the truth with you.”

“But you still want to see me? Even if it means cheating on him.”

“It's nothing I'm proud of, but yes. I don’t think there's anyone I'd turn down you for.”

Sam giggles in relief. The butterflies in his stomach could supply every botanical garden in the state. He gets up from his chair and paces a few steps back and forth in his room. “Tom.”

“Yes?”

“Whose am I?” Sam asks and presses his hand over his mouth, waiting with baited breath and eyes wide.

It’s quiet on the other side of the line. Just long enough for Sam to think Tom doesn’t get it. But then…

“You’re _mine_ , you devious devil child,” Tom all but growls, voice hungry and possessive.

Sam can picture the wolflike grin with which he says it. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear it. Nor does he understand his need to belong to someone. But the moment he hears the ‘mine’ something inside of him triumphs, jubilantly happy. He falls back on his bed, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “So how do we meet?”

He hears some keyboard tapping on the other side. “Your next game is on Sunday, right?”

“Yeah?”

“If you can make it to the airport within an hour, not bringing any luggage to check in, there's a flight… you can be in my hotel room in about three hours. Stay a day or two, and be back before your next game. I'll pay for everything. You’ll have a ticket waiting for you at the airport.”

“I'm coming. Call you again when I'm at the airport.”

He says goodbye and calls a cab. He changes clothes and writes a note to Dean. “ _I'm in Canada to see a friend. Cover for me at practice. I don’t know, say I'm sick or something. I'll be back before the game. I'll call you tomorrow. /Sam_ ”

Then he puts on a jacket, a beanie, his boots, and leaves home.

Three hours and eight minutes later he’s knocking on the door of Tom's room at The Westin Calgary. Tom opens right away and Sam steps in falling into his arms, kicking the door shut in the same motion. He meant to kiss, but somehow he ends up clinging, burrowing his nose in Tom’s shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. It’s like balm to his soul. He suddenly feels like crying. He’s not sure why. He’s happy right now. He hates how close he is to tears. He’s two months short of nineteen, if he could stop bawling every time he meets Tom, that would be good thank you. 

Tom is clinging just as hard right back, one hand around his back, the other cupping the back of his head, having accidentally knocked the beanie off. He kisses Sam's neck wherever he can reach. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. Sam presses him impossibly closer in response. For a booty call, there sure are a lot of strong, forbidden emotions involved.

* * *

Sam takes down the video when he gets home. Dean isn’t mad for once, since Sam had let him know he’s okay and when he'd be back, plus talked to him on the phone while he was away. 

Unbeknownst to Sam, one user on the pornsite had downloaded the video, regarding it a favourite. When it gets taken down, the stranger reuploads it on his account. Thus Sam’s desperate measure to get to see Tom, is still out there for anyone to see.

If Sam knew, he'd probably make a guilty pleasure out of logging in to read the comments.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding the [link to the video in question](http://www.xtube.com/video-watch/Stud-jerking-his-big-cock-12599991#.VSCtL_msVv8) that inspired the story. **Warning! NSFW link!**

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments. :)


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